Paragade
by Aural Winter
Summary: Erin Shepard died a paragon. But by the time the Collectors were defeated, she had become... something else. A look at Shepard's shift into the red. Spoilers, some Shep/Garrus, rated for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
1. Reconciliation

(somewhat long-winded) **Author's Notes: **The description says it pretty well. When I first created Erin Shepard, I intended for her to be completely Paragon. Through the first Mass Effect, she was an unapologetic goody-two-shoes, and damn proud of it. But I tend to take the "role-playing" part of RPGs pretty seriously. When I play, I take the role of my character. I channel the character, and let the character do things their own way. The choices I make aren't my choices; they are the character's. Sometimes my characters make choices that are abso-frickin-lutely wrong, and I get pissed at them. But that's the way I play.

During Mass Effect 2, Erin Shepard started drifting more and more toward the Renegade side of things. It wasn't me doing the drifting. It was completely her. She was still a Paragon at heart, but by the end of it, she was no longer that same goody-two-shoes from ME1. She came out of it somewhere in the middle. A Paragade. And this fic is my attempt to discover why.

I'll be writing this as a series of one-shots exploring Erin's drift into the Paragade. I've got a few planned out; I'll write others as they come. They will be a mixture of several genres: action, drama, romance, angst, humor, etc. Some of them will intertwine with events from Trust Implicit, and I promise to maintain continuity. Also, I'm writing from the first person perspective. Not usually my favorite, but it seems appropriate here. Please, tell me what you think! If it turns out horrible, I'm open to changing it.

Damn. Apologies for the long-windedness. And now we begin.

**Paragade**

* * *

_They say that everyone dreams. But when you wake up, all you have left is a whisper._

_I didn't even have the whisper._

_

* * *

_

It's really hard to comprehend losing two years. The first thing that hits you is just how much the world has changed. You log into the extranet and look at a news portal, and none of the headlines make sense.

**Juliet Mainhardt to star in Carpe Diem 2. **Who the hell is Juliet Mainhardt? And was I dead for Carpe Diem 1? I remembered the trailer for that movie -- I had wanted to see it.

**Earth nations in suspense as Systems Alliance hears Ford v. Huerta.** Wait… President Huerta died? Damn! I had voted for that guy.

**Rosenkov Materials debuts new M-97 Viper sniper rifle. **Seriously? Two years ago, the M-96 had been the best sniper rifle on the public market. Now it was already out of date? Well then. I'd have to take a look at the specs eventually. I do need a new rifle, considering that my old HMSWR is lying in some rubble pit on Alchera…

I spent that first night on board the new Normandy feverishly browsing the extranet, trying to fill the two-year gap in my mind. I don't like not knowing. It makes me feel mentally naked. Back with the Alliance, I used to get sent on long missions in deep space, far from any kind of extranet link or comm buoy. I hated it. I loved serving in deep space, but I hated not knowing. Being cut off from the extranet was like being cut off from the world. As soon as I got back, I would go straight to the computer and brush up on the month or two of current events I'd missed.

But this was different -- this was two years, and a hell of a lot had changed.

Ashley Williams had been honored by the turian and salarian governments. First human ever to receive the turian Medal of Valor -- first posthumous award to anyone, of any species. I remembered her saying she would kiss a turian once. Were she still around to receive this award, I think she would have kissed the turian ambassador proudly.

My mother is now _Captain _Hannah Shepard, _SSV Orizaba_. Apparently she had turned down an Admiral promotion a few months ago, opting to stay on board her ship. Of course. Hannah Shepard would never accept a ground position. Mom and dad had raised me a spacer for a reason: among the stars is where the Shepard family belongs, not in some bureau office. If you try to ground us, we'll kick and squirm and fight until we're airborne once again.

Then there was another story. Some kind of battle between Cerberus and the quarians. Tali had mentioned it when we ran into her on Freedom's Progress, but at the time, I hadn't thought to ask her about it. The details were shaky. The quarians weren't much for talking to reporters, and Cerberus, obviously, was unavailable for comment. But from what I could gather, Cerberus agents had raided the Migrant Fleet, searching for a powerful biotic child who had gone into hiding with them. The attack ended in disaster.

"Cerberus," I whispered to myself. Hearing the name out loud felt… peculiar. It made the air around me stiff. It made the walls feel like a prison.

I still remembered fighting Cerberus two years ago. I remembered their experiments -- the husks, the rachni, the thorian creepers. Admiral Kahoku. Hell. Back then, I was convinced these people were terrorists and nothing else.

And now… well, here I was, sitting in the captain's suite of a Cerberus vessel, on a mission assigned by Cerberus, funded by Cerberus money, crafted by Cerberus intelligence. The lines were blurring fast. I reached for my shoulder and started scratching at the Cerberus patch emblazoned on my shirt, as if ripping away a few threads of orange fabric would change things.

I am not working for Cerberus. I'm not even working _with _Cerberus. I am using Cerberus like a tool, taking what Cerberus gives me, and working for the galaxy. That's the way I choose to look at it. I do wish I could be working with the Council again -- that way I could have the "law" on my side. But Cerberus were the ones who stepped up. They had saved my life, given me a ship. And I was in no position to reject such willing help.

I considered going back to the Citadel soon, talking to the Council. Maybe they could restore my Spectre status and give me the resources I needed to fight these Collectors…

But somewhere around oh three hundred that night, I came across an old Westerlund News article that completely shattered that possibility: **Council officially closes file on Sovereign. **

**Udina: "The Reapers are a myth."**

I reared back. Bullshit! Impossible. There was no way he would… Udina was a jackass, but he wasn't a moron. I remembered his inauguration speech like it was yesterday. He had stood at the center of the Citadel Council Chambers, faced the crowd of diplomats and reporters, representatives from every species, and proudly declared that humanity was ready. Ready to lead the attack, ready to fight until the Reapers had been driven back into dark space. He'd been so steadfast, so _resolute_. I had trusted him. I had put my _faith _in him. How could he be dismissing the Reapers as myths now, just like that, after all the promises he had made?

…_son of a_…

The bastard lied! He'd swayed me with impassioned speeches and flowery language, like slimy politicians always did. He never really believed in the Reapers. He had just wanted the great Erin Shepard's support.

And I, the idiot, gave it to him.

Donnell Udina and I had never seen eye to eye, but I had backed him for the ambassadorship because I thought he was the best choice. Captain Anderson was a good man, but he was no politician. Udina knew how to navigate the political arena. He knew how to sway hearts and minds with rousing speeches, how to twist arms, cut backroom deals, intimidate political opposition into silence. He knew how to get things done. He had promised me everything I needed to fight the Reapers. He had assured me that he could get the Council on my side.

And I had swallowed every word of it.

I sighed, then took a long sip of cold, bitter coffee. _Politicians_. Should have seen it coming. Williams had always said that politicians can't be trusted. Had she been around, she would have convinced me to back Anderson. Hell, I should have backed Anderson regardless. Why hadn't I backed Anderson?

"_Udina," _I hissed, pronouncing the name like I was spitting out acid. "What the _fuck _was I thinking?"

Anderson was still around, though. Thankfully. I followed a few links and came upon a New York Times/Terra Nova Tribunal profile on him, dated just about a year ago. After the news of my death hit, he had gone across the galaxy, making speeches and media appearances, trying his best to convince people that the Reapers were real. He'd garnered a lot of support in the Alliance, as well as in the colonies. Admiral Hackett was behind him. So was my mom. But it seemed the rest of the galaxy had decided to believe the Council's shaky story: that Sovereign was just a big geth ship, and that the threat was over. Commander Shepard had saved the galaxy. All was well. _Yippee_, someone break out the booze. Of course. When a threat that big looms on the horizon, the easiest thing to do is just believe it doesn't exist.

The Alliance had promoted Anderson to admiral in an attempt to shut him up. But as of last year, he was back on the Citadel, speaking out as loudly as ever. It's nice being labeled "hero." You could speak your mind and they wouldn't dare do anything to you.

If I did go back to the Citadel, it would be for Anderson only. No point in wasting my time with Udina and the rest of those Council idiots.

A few more hours passed. I brushed up on other news: political stuff, financial, entertainment. Apparently Carpe Diem 1 had been a critical disaster, but it took in a few billion credits at the box office. No wonder Carpe Diem 2 was in the works. I did eventually look up the specs on the M-97 Viper, too. It was good, but it still couldn't hold a candle to my old HMSWR. I sighed. That rifle had spoiled me. I would probably never be happy with anything else.

That was when I caught a sudden flash of blue out the corner of my eye. I jumped. After hundreds of hours of live combat experience where a flash of light means you've got 0.018 seconds before the bullet hits you, such flashes tend to make you a bit tense.

"I apologize, Commander," came EDI's soft, computerized voice. Her blue orb representation had appeared over my room's computer panel. "I did not mean to startle you."

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it, EDI. What do you need?"

"Mr. Moreau has asked me to inform you that we are approaching Omega," she said.

I blinked once, hard. For the first time that night, I felt the weight of my tired eyelids. "What time is it, EDI?"

"Approximately oh five hundred and seventeen minutes," the AI said without missing a beat.

Well, hell. Already? I had been planning to get at least a _few _hours of sleep before docking at Omega. "How far out are we?"

Instead of giving me an answer, EDI fed the Normandy's forward camera view directly onto my computer screen. And there Omega was. It floated silently in black space, a blanket of stars dotting the background.

It looked… creepy. Like something out of a troubled young artist's mind. A long metal construct jutted out of the asteroid that was its core, the rock mushrooming forth above a collection of smaller, orbiting asteroids. Omega emitted a red-orange glow of artificial light that reminded me of an alarm. It looked like ten thousand such alarms were going off inside. As the Normandy approached, I started making out details within the metal structure, tight grooves and sharp indentures that lent the station a wild, ferocious appearance. It looked like the Citadel's evil twin. My eyes remained fixated on it for what seemed like ages.

"Are you scared, Commander Shepard?"

I gave EDI a sharp and penetrating glare. Was she… analyzing me? Sensing my anxiety? The idea that an AI was on board at all was going to take some getting used to. No way in hell was I about to have a heart-to-heart with one.

"Omega is the fifth most dangerous location in the galaxy by murder rate per capita," EDI continued, taking my yes for granted. "The station is completely lawless, and populated almost exclusively by criminals. Some of the most dangerous people in the galaxy make it their home. Expect to be attacked. Numerous times."

I looked away, my eyes drifting back to the live feed of Omega on my computer. "Thanks for the reassurance, EDI." I took a long breath. "And no, I'm not scared. A little apprehensive, maybe. But not scared."

"That is good," EDI said. "You are an agent of Cerberus now. You have been given some of the best equipment in the galaxy, and you have two of the most capable agents in our organization at your side. Cerberus is behind you. There is no reason to be scared."

What angered me the most was that EDI's words were true. Mostly. I refused to think of myself as an "agent of Cerberus," but the rest was undeniable. This organization was behind me. Completely and utterly. The Illusive Man, as deceitful as I knew he was, had poured billions of credits into me for a reason. He'd put his full faith in me, and he was backing me with the strength of one of the most powerful groups in the galaxy. He had given me a ship, some fantastic equipment, the best crew in the galaxy. And most important of all, he had given me autonomy. While the Council sat around pretending like the Reapers were one giant myth, Cerberus was fighting. Cerberus was fighting fiercely, bitterly, with money, politics, technology, agents; every last resource they had. And if I wanted to fight, I was going to have to fight with them.

I didn't have to like them. But I had to admit, they deserved my respect.


	2. The Worst

I thought Omega was bad. But as we stepped out of the Normandy and got our first look at the inside of the station, I realized I was wrong.

Omega was not bad. Omega was the worst. This cannot be overstated -- Omega was the absolute worst location in the galaxy. And I was speaking from experience. I'd been to some of the filthiest, most toxic shitholes this collection of stars and interstellar dust had to offer: failing colonies, lawless space stations, batarian pirate vessels, impoverished mining stations on distant and hostile planets. Even the Citadel had its darker parts. And closer to home, too -- Earth. Each one of Earth's vibrant, gleaming urban megaplexes had a seedy and impoverished underbelly, an expanse of slums where people's only choice for survival was crime, where their only escape was violence and drugs. I had seen the worst parts of cities like Houston, Mumbai, and Rio firsthand. Sometimes you don't have to look to the batarians to find cruelty unimaginable.

But Omega was the worst. I'd seen very little of it, yet I was already sure of that much.

We stepped carefully down the long, metallic hallway that led out of the docking complex. As we moved, I was hit with the smells of rotting flesh and burning garbage, so pungent and overpowering that I was almost scared to breathe. The air felt cold and dirty against my face. The walls were covered in layers of caked grime. I had to squint my eyes to see in the flickering red light. Empty. There was nobody around, but I could hear activity up ahead.

A few whines echoed down the hallway, followed by a hard _thud _and a clankering of metal. I sped up the pace. "Do you hear that?" Jacob Taylor and Miranda Lawson were keeping step behind me, and I had asked the question to both of them.

It was Jacob who answered. "Sounds like a fight."

Indeed it did. A knot started forming in the center of my chest. Thirty seconds off the ship, and we were about to be treated to the most brutally honest "Welcome to Omega" I could have anticipated.

The three of us rounded the corner, and sure enough, we walked right into the middle of a confrontation. Two silhouetted figures moved in the darkness -- two men: one human, one batarian. The batarian was lying on the floor, motionless. The human was standing over him menacingly. As we approached, my hand hovered subconsciously over the pistol strapped at my side. I saw the human's leg lift, pull back, ready to kick. But I stepped too hard. He heard us. And he stopped.

"Please," the batarian grunted, staring up at me with four pained eyes. "You have to help me."

Then the human delivered the kick he'd been holding. "No one said you could talk, jackass."

When walking in on a fight in progress, it's best not to make assumptions. There were a million possible reasons why this human was beating this batarian to a pulp. Either of them could have been at fault. Considering where we were, I'd have put my money on both of them. I could only see the human's backside, but I was already sure he was a mercenary, and a dangerous one at that. The batarian looked like trouble too. Really, this was Omega. This kind of thing happened every day. The smart thing to do was walk away, and I wanted to do the smart thing.

But there's this annoying little part of me, this nagging, uncompromising voice in the back of my head, that just _refuses _to let me walk away from someone who needs my help.

"Hey," I yelled, breaking into a soft run. "What are you doing? You've got the batarian beat, you don't have to crack him open like that."

The human, back still turned, raised me an impatient hand. "Gimme a sec." Then he lifted his foot and buried it into his batarian victim's ribcage, causing the alien to fill the hall with echoing howls of pain so shrill that I almost had to cringe.

"I told you to _stop_!" I yelled. On a whim, I decided to grab the human's shoulder.

Bad whim. In the span of a second, he had pivoted a full way around, bringing over a hundred fifty rigid kilograms of armor and tall, thick muscle to bear. He stared at me with mismatched eyes. "And who the _fuck _are you to tell me that?" His voice sounded like a few million cigarettes trapped behind a vaguely British accent.

I had my hand on my gun. I was ready to shoot it, too, absolutely certain that this mercenary was going to jump me right then and there. But Miranda interrupted us. "Shepard, what are you doing? This is Zaeed Massani. He's on your dossier."

Oh.

Well…

That certainly changed things.

I glared up at Zaeed Massani, watching his muscles relax, his intimidating posture drop. "Hold up a moment," he said, taking a single step back. "_You're _Erin Shepard?"

Before I could respond, Miranda had stepped between us. "That's right." She extended Zaeed a hand. "I'm Miranda Lawson, Commander Shepard's second in command. I trust you've been briefed?"

"Yeah, I've done my homework. We got a galaxy to save, yada, yada. I know who to point my gun at."

Miranda stared at the injured batarian. "My contacts said we were picking up one man. Not two."

Zaeed shrugged. "Batarian delinquent. Pissed off somebody rich enough to hire me to go after him. And for my 'bring 'em in alive' rates, even."

The batarian shuddered, but Zaeed gave him a look that would have scared even _me_ into silence. "Tried to lead me on a chase all over the Systems," he continued. "Bastard should have known better. These people always run to Omega."

Miranda cleared her throat. "So you'll be… finished here soon?"

"Yeah, I'll go turn this thing in before it starts to stink. I'll be locked and loaded next time you're ready to--"

"Hold it," I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. I gave Zaeed a long, probing go-over, analyzing the man from top to bottom. I'd never heard of him, but I felt like I had seen him a thousand times. I knew his type. Mercenary, through and through. No honor to anything except the line of credit. I didn't know Zaeed's personal track record, but it was people like him that were behind the toxic shitholes like Omega that dotted the galaxy. They were what made these stars so dangerous. The Illusive Man was crazy if he thought I was going to take this guy.

"Shepard…" Miranda gave me an apprehensive look.

"I'm the commander in charge of this mission, Agent Lawson. I'm the one who gets to choose who makes it into the squad. And I'm not about to put my trust in the hands of some two-bit--"

"Hey, now," Zaeed said.

I ignored him. "Look, I've dealt with people like this before. He'll betray us the moment he gets a better offer."

At that, Zaeed let out a long and raucous laugh. "I'd like to goddamn meet the person who can _afford _a better offer than the one Cerberus gave me."

"The Illusive Man got us Zaeed for a reason," Miranda said, giving me a long, irritated look. It was clear she wasn't pleased with what I was trying to do. "He's good and he's trustworthy. He's a mercenary, but he has always been loyal to his employers. Cerberus wouldn't trust him with something so important if he was just another gunslinger."

I shifted my weight around as she spoke, unsure of what to say. Miranda was about fifteen hundred kilometers out of line. Just because Cerberus was funding this mission did not mean Cerberus was in control. "I'm sure he's the best of the best," I said, "but I don't need a man like him on my ship."

"Still standing right goddamn here," Zaeed grunted.

Miranda studied me, the way you would study an electrified fence standing between you and your goal. "Shepard, we don't have time for this. We need the best people we can get. This mission is too important."

Damn it, why didn't she get it? I turned my head and looked at Jacob. Jacob the marine, ex-Alliance, the free thinker. He was with Cerberus for the same reason as me: because they were the only ones willing to fight. I expected this kind of thing from Miranda the loyalist. I had expected trouble with her from the beginning. But he was different. He was like me. Surely he could understand? I wasn't about to fight the Collectors with self-serving mercenaries at my side.

But Jacob dissapointed me. He said, "Commander, I think Miranda's right. This mission is too important. Zaeed's an asset we can't afford to turn down."

…hell…

I really hate those moments when I realize I'm wrong for the right reasons. I'd been having a lot of them lately. Wrong is still wrong, no matter the reasons.

I turned back around, giving Zaeed Massani a hawk-like glare. "On my ship, we do things my way," I said, my voice low. "Are we clear?"

The mercenary let out a long breath. "I get it, Shepard. I'll behave."

"One screw up," I growled, planting a finger on his chest. "One. And you're out. When I give an order, you'll follow it. And I don't give a _damn_ what you think. On the Normandy, we don't sacrifice lives to reach our goals."

Zaeed was quiet for a long, long time. He analyzed me, tiny muscles in his scarred face shifting. I didn't drop my eyes for a second. "Fine, Shepard," he finally said. "I'll remember to wear my bunny slippers whenever we go on a mission." Then he grunted.

I could already tell that Zaeed didn't like me. But after that display, I knew he would respect me. And that was all I wanted from him. Having a ruthless mercenary on my team was crossing enough lines -- I certainly didn't want one as a friend.

* * *

The nicest, richest cities in the galaxy have their bad parts. And the worst, most decrepit holes have areas that are pretty presentable. As we stepped out of Afterlife nightclub, I came to the slow realization that this was Omega's "tourist" district.

Afterlife was a fortress of flashing lights and muffled musical thrums, a gathering place for the important citizens of the station. Omega's religion was money, and this was the First Cathedral of the Holy Credit. Aria T'Loak had been pretty straight about it: she _was _Omega. She was the boss, CEO, queen… if you were feeling dramatic. I ventured to call her Omega's High Priestess. She'd made it clear that she was the power holder on this station, so naturally the area around her cathedral was as presentable as one could expect. Miranda, Jacob, and I fought our way through the crowd gathered outside of Afterlife, and eventually we made it back to the… hell, I guess it was Omega's version of a plaza. The floor and the walls were cleaner here, the air wasn't as cold, and the sounds were typical urban din rather than the bays of conflict. But the smell was still there. Dead flesh, burning garbage… and who knew what else. You can't beautify smell.

"I say we go after Mordin first," Miranda said, speaking over the distant music. "The faster we can get him working on a seeker countermeasure, the better."

Though I was curious to find out the identity of Archangel, I knew she was right. Mordin Solus would have to be first. But before that, I wanted to go to the markets. Cerberus had given me enough credits to buy a three-bedroom penthouse for a reason. My team was going to need the best equipment, and Omega, worst as it was, would undoubtedly have some good stuff for us.

_Maybe they'll even have an HMSWR for sale, _I thought. Then, _yeah, right. Don't kid yourself, Shepard. You won't find another one of those girls._

As we walked through the Omega markets, I found myself purposely lagging behind my team. Miranda and Jacob walked forward in even step, stopping for a few moments to browse the stalls and catalogs they passed. I watched them. And I couldn't help feel like I was… alone.

It wasn't that I didn't trust Miranda and Jacob. I knew they were both capable as hell, and willing to stand with me until the end. But I still didn't know_ them_. They were comrades, nothing more. Maybe things would change. But I still didn't feel close to these two, not like I had with the crew of the first Normandy. A good squad isn't just a collection of the best warriors. It's made up of people who can trust each other, and not just on the battlefield. A squad is a system of dependency. Every member needs someone to rely on. As cheesy as it sounds, everyone needs a friend, someone to keep their head straight.

I sighed. I wanted my old friends back.

But Ash was dead. Tali was back with the Fleet, probably for good. No more pilgrimage to force her away from her people again. And Garrus… not even the Illusive Man knew where Garrus was. The turian had seemingly phased right out of existence.

God, I could use Garrus now. I'd have to ask the Illusive Man to send out a few probes…


	3. Archangel

I really don't want this to sound… well, insane. But it felt nice to kill again.

Or rather, it felt nice to _fight _again. I was relieved to see that I hadn't lost my edge. On the Cerberus station and on Freedom's Progress, we had fought nothing but mechs. Not that mechs are easy. But they simply don't present the mental challenge of a live foe. Their vaunted VI programs can't hold a candle to true AI, and as dangerous as they are, they absolutely _cannot_ think on their feet. They don't know tactics. All they know is to stand there and shoot.

But the Blue Suns and vorcha blocking our way to Mordin Solus's clinic were no VIs. They had tried to fight us off with every urban guerilla tactic in the book -- hidden snipers, booby traps, ambushes of every flavor, shotguns and rockets in close quarters. The Blue Suns had the flare. But the vorcha had the numbers, and that made them tougher. Fighting our way through the central environmental control unit, watching and shooting and ducking as more and more vorcha poured in from every angle… had tested my reflexes to the limit. Calculate trajectory, raise rifle to eye, pop bullet into skull, duck as the return fire comes. I hadn't fought such a tough engagement since Ilos. It felt nice to stretch old muscles again.

Still, it was strange fighting without Garrus. It felt like just a few weeks since I had left him at the Citadel, going off to chase the scattered bands of geth left in the Veil. I'd become so used to having his rifle as a twin to my own that I now found myself glancing to my right to check on his position, hesitating before picking a target as my mind calculated where Garrus was and which enemy he was going to take out. At one point in the battle, I had yelled "Overload," subconsciously expecting Garrus to pop out of cover and dispatch the shield of a nearby charging krogan. Only after Miranda carried out the order did I remember that Garrus was gone.

Miranda's overload is… different. It _pops _more, but it doesn't carry the same power, the same subtle intensity. Miranda overloads something and the thing explodes. Garrus's gets in the wiring and twists things from inside, gnawing and short-circuiting until the system collapses. Hers is all at once, but his is gradual, and the target doesn't realize he's wormed his way into their system until it's far too late to get him out.

I like his better.

Now Mordin Solus was finally set up in the Normandy's tech lab. He had given me some parting wisdom before I went back to Omega. "Most important thing to bring to a firefight is a good kinetic repulsor, preferably one that protects against high-impact incendiary rounds," he'd said. "But second most important thing is a squad you trust."

It was true. Which was why I was feeling a little apprehensive about this next mission. Archangel, whoever he was, had dug himself into a big hole with the local mercenaries, and we had signed on as freelancers in order to get him out. I was taking Jacob -- solid backup, accurate fire, some powerful biotics. Trustworthy. And Zaeed. Zaeed I didn't trust at all. But I had to give him a shot, give him a chance to prove his loyalty and myself a chance to assess his skills. No reason not to do it now.

A burly batarian mechanic named Cathka stalked in front of the line of freelancers, sizing us up like the cannon fodder he knew we were. "Bravo team, go," he said, and the other mercenaries immediately started charging down the bridge to Archangel's apartment fortress. But we lingered back.

"Archangel's got quite a surprise waiting for him," Cathka said. He put down some kind of electric sodder on a nearby table, turning his attention back to the gunship he was repairing. "That means no more waiting for me. Gotta get her back to a hundred percent before Tarak decides he needs her again."

Uh oh. We had already taken the heavy mechs out of commission, but a fully repaired gunship would be an even bigger problem. Soundlessly, I picked up Cathka's sodder and stalked forward, drifting toward the back-turned batarian.

I should have killed him. I really should have. But as I stood there, staring at Cathka's back, I felt tightening muscles in my stomach. He was a bad guy. I knew he was. But the poor bastard was helpless. I just couldn't bring myself to kill him so brutally. Not in cold blood.

"Hey Cathka," I said. "You're working too hard. Maybe you should take a break."

The batarian shook his head. "No can do. Gotta get this thing running."

Hell, how much could he manage to fix in the next ten minutes? Besides, we didn't have time to debate moral quandaries. The freelancers were on the move. I put the sodder back on the table with a sigh and headed for the bridge, wishing things were simple. Damn my big fucking heart.

I peered over the barricades in front of the bridge and studied it. The other freelancers were there, trying to sprint its entire length as fast as their legs could manage. I could see why, too. A figure. Turian. He was protected by a full suit of blue body armor, poking his head and his rifle out one of the second story windows. Every few seconds, he dissapeared behind a timed muzzle flash. And with every flash, one of the freelancers dropped to the floor like a stone. Archangel. He had the advantage of height, and the best vantage point a sniper could ask for. He was in his roost. And he wasn't even coming close to missing.

_Impressive, _I conceded, watching him drop mercenary after helpless mercenary. _He's as good as I am_, I mused. _Almost as good as Garrus._

But there were too many targets coming at him. He couldn't possibly hit them all before getting swarmed. We had to help him.

"Come on," I said to my squad. "We'll give them a surprise of my own."

I almost felt bad for the poor freelancers as we hopped down off the barricades and onto the bridge. They were already facing near-certain death with Archangel. Now, three heavily armed people were about to stab them in the back. A tall human unhooked a grenade launcher from his back and fired into Archangel's window. My heart jumped, but Archangel merely ducked and reappeared in front of a curtain of orange fire. I ran up behind the grenadier and wedged my rifle into the back of his head. Then I fired.

To my left, Jacob pulled an armored batarian off his feet, and Zaeed supplied the bullets. I raised my rifle to eye, watched the two heavily armed humans in front of me, dropped the one on the left. Archangel took care of his friend simultaneously. I grinned to myself. I liked this turian already.

Now the bridge was clear, and we started sprinting for the apartment. I was about twenty meters away from the door when I felt a hard, dull _thud _just below my chest, like someone had thrown a rock at me. My eyes dropped -- just in time to see the residual blue light from my kinetic shield fade away. I glanced up, and found myself staring straight at Archangel's black faceplate. Eyes locked with hidden eyes. The turian was still for a moment. Then he jerked his head back, like he was studying me, giving me a slow go-over. "_Crap_," I whispered under my breath. Archangel had shot me. He thought I was another freelancer.

But… he had hit me in the chest. Just below the heart. The least vulnerable spot in my body, and right where my armor and kinetic shield were strongest. That could not have been an accident. I'd seen him place round after round into the mercenaries' heads just moments ago -- how could he have missed so _perfectly_? I glared at him, but all I could see was a still, black faceplate and the barrel of a gun.

It wasn't until Jacob ran past that I realized I had become frozen in place. "Come on, Commander," he said, grabbing me by the arm. "We have to get inside." I fell into step with him, sprinting the last twenty meters into the apartment.

There was a bomb crew already inside, but not for long. I brought up my scope and fired. The bullet hit the bomb directly, sending out a small but powerful explosion that rocked the building's foundation. I covered my face with my hand, bracing myself against the impact of heat. When I opened my eyes again, the bomb crew was gone. Obliterated.

Another mercenary, farther into the apartment, yelled. "She's with Archangel!" He and his two buddies turned around at the edge of the staircase. They opened fire on us.

For all of five seconds. Jacob trapped one man in a case of biotic energy, while Zaeed knocked the other two to the ground with a concussive shot. I blindfired, taking out one of the mercs on the floor. Zaeed took care of the other. Jacob ran up to the floating mercenary and fired a wave of shotgun rounds. The three bodies hit the floor quickly. And we were left with silence.

"That about sums up the freelancers," Zaeed said.

I nodded. "Which just leaves Archangel."

We climbed up to the second story, the stairs ending at a long, sterile white hallway. I approached the door to Archangel's room with instinctual caution. And quite a bit of curiosity. Few snipers were good enough to impress me -- in fact, Garrus was the last one I could remember. I wanted to meet the man who had torn through the freelancers downstairs with such ease.

Jacob and Zaeed joined me at the door. We stepped through carefully, weapons drawn. No such thing as too much caution. I pivoted, finding Archangel down the sight of my pistol. He turned, studying me through his black faceplate.

"Archangel?"

He turned back to his scope, found a target, and squeezed the trigger. _Plick_, came the little bullet. I heard a human cry outside, once, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor with a _thump_. Archangel got to his feet. He walked over to a nearby outcropping and sat down coolly, supporting himself by burying his rifle into the floor like a staff.

Then he took off his mask.

Huh. This turian looked a lot like…

…_oh._

I felt my heart do flips in my chest, a smile exploding onto my face faster than I could try to stop it. Storms went off in my head. I dropped my pistol. My arms stretched out and my legs broke into a run. Garrus tried to keep his face casual and distant as always, but he couldn't hide it from _me. _The way his eyes shined, the way his mandibles popped out like mechanical flaps… I could tell. He was happy to see me too.

I all but threw myself against him, wrapping my hands around his body. "Garrus," I breathed. His armor was hard and uncomfortable against my chest, but I barely noticed. I was far too stunned and joyous and… and _thankful_ to care about a little pain.

"Shepard," he whispered into my ear, soft enough so that only I could hear it. I felt his hand against my back. "I thought you were dead."

_I was_, I wanted to say. _I was dead, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the pain. But I'm back now, for good. And I want you at my side again. _

But in the end, I kept it to myself. Now wasn't the time to fill Garrus in on the details of Project Lazarus. Slowly, I pulled myself away, staring long and tenderly into his dark eyes. His mandibles flared. The corners of his mouth twisted. It was the closest he could get to a grin, and I dearly appreciated the effort. I gave him one back.

"What are you doing here?"

He cracked his neck, then gave me a casual shrug. "Just keeping my skills sharp. A little target practice."

Of course. Garrus had always been one for understatement. I afforded him a chuckle, more out of friendship than anything else. I always laugh at his jokes, even when they're not funny. It delights him. "You okay?" I asked.

He shrugged again. "Been better. But it sure is good to see a friendly face. Killing mercs is hard work, especially on my own."

I looked past him, staring out the window, my eyes jumping from dead body to dead body on the bridge. "Well, we got here," I said, "but I don't think getting out will be as easy."

"No, it won't," he agreed, stretching once and getting to his feet. "That bridge has saved my life, funneling those witless idiots into scope. But it works both ways. They'll slaughter us if we try to get out that way."

Zaeed scoffed. "So we just sit here and wait for them to take us out?"

Garrus stared at him for a split second, then began stalking toward the window, gripping his rifle fiercely. "It's not all that bad. This place has held them off so far. And with the three of you…" He smirked again, but this time it was devious. "I suggest we hold this location, wait for a crack in their defenses, and take our chances. It's not a perfect plan. But it's a plan."

I smiled at him. We had banked on shakier plans before. "Let's do it."

* * *

Jacob grunted, bracing himself against the bullets. I spat out more blood than saliva. Zaeed… Zaeed was nowhere to be found. Forget him. Soft _thumps _hit my chest, tiny rounds from the Centurion's rifle repelled by my kinetic shield. _Four seconds_, I thought. I had four seconds to down him before my shield fell. I shot up the stairs with a renewed burst of energy, staring down my scope. Stabalizing myself, I placed a bullet straight through his head. But the bastard's shield repelled it… somehow.

"I need help, Shepard!" Garrus sounded panicked. With a growl, I let my feet propel me forward, running off a supply of energy I didn't know I had. _Thump, thump, thump, _more bullets slapped against my shield. It was at fifteen percent. I cursed. My heart exploded with adrenaline as I cleared the last step. I raised my shoulder, bracing myself for impact. Then I crashed into the Centurion with all the strength of my inertia.

He fell back, slamming against the wall, and I raised my rifle to hip level and blindfired. The round tore through his chest. I didn't linger around to see him die.

"Taylor, Massani, group at Vakarian's room." I didn't know where they were, but I refused to wait for them. Garrus needed me _now. _We had stopped the Eclipse's frontal assault, pushed back the Blood Pack in the tunnelers. But now the Blue Suns were swarming the building. I sprinted, bounding for Garrus's roost, ignoring the fire of fatigue in my lungs, the layer of sweat across my body. My muscles ached, but my mind didn't dare give in. Adrenaline and protective instinct kept me going, sheer _need _for Garrus to make it out of this alive.

I poured into his room just in time to see the gunship appear through the window. Garrus stared at it for half a second, gaping. Then it opened fire. The bullets tore through his armor and shielding like a knife through lettuce, and I felt the sting of every single one in my chest. I felt the pain. I yelled. He dragged himself behind a crate, bleeding but seemingly okay.

Then the missile.

I saw it unfold like it was in slow motion, a highlight reel from a North American Rules Football game. The missile exploded against Garrus's crate, propelling him into the air. He flew. His limbs writhed, and his face was painted with sheer terror. It lasted a fraction of a second. Then he hit the floor, twisting with a sick _crunch_. "Garrus!" I heard myself scream, ducking behind cover. "Garrus!" No response. No movement. He laid there.

_Hell, oh, hell. No._

Jacob and Zaeed appeared at the edge of my vision, blanketing the gunship with a flurry of gunfire. They yelled at me to give them covering fire. But I just sat there, feeling the anger well up inside. Not the quick, hot flash of anger that comes and goes in second-long spurts, the kind you get when someone punches you or makes an obscene comment to your face. This was slower, deeper, calmer and more gradual. This was at the soul. Dangerous. It was rage. It made my vision haze, and I lost control of myself.

"FUUUCK!" the rage-Erin screamed, unhooking the missile launcher from her back. She was in control now. I was just a spectator. I watched her raise the launcher and fire. One. Two. Three missiles. Direct hits all. The gunship retreated under the building, but rage-Erin kept firing. Four, five, six. Damn it, stop! Wasting ammo…

Jacob yelled, "Commander, left flank." Rage-Erin turned to see a trio of Blue Suns mercenaries entering through the window.

_Fatal blast radius of 3.5 meters, _I thought, my mind racing in silent calculations. I've always been good at that. _Closest targets are 5.2 meters apart. Take them all out when they get closer. _But rage-Erin heard none of it. She fired heat-seeking missiles at all three.

One round left. I saw the gunship appear at the edge of the window, and rage-Erin fired the last missile at it instantaneously, thoughtlessly, without even pausing to take aim. The gunship caught fire. Its fuel was ignited. The smart thing to do was duck behind cover now, wait for it to explode by itself. But rage-Erin had a different plan. She threw the launcher over her shoulder and grabbed her pistol, sprinting to the window. Through the glass of the gunship, I could see Tarak, the Blue Sun commander, with primal, white fear playing in his eyes. I watched him watch his own coming death, and I felt sick. But rage-Erin loved it. Rage-Erin relished in it. He'd hurt Garrus, and she wanted to give him a world's worth of pain. Through a chorus of fire and yells, she raised her pistol and shot four rounds through the glass -- one through each limb. Then she turned away. A few seconds later, I felt the heat of the explosion against my back.

Rage takes a long time to subside. But I think I calmed down a bit, because the next thing I remember, I was kneeling over Garrus, back in control. I shoved the rage into the back of my mind, shoved the fear and the anger and the _joy _of Tarak's pain. Garrus gasped. He was lying in a pool of blue turian blood, and more was seeping out through multiple wounds. It looked… very bad. It looked fatal.

I hate to euphemize during a battle. If a wound is bad, I tell the soldier up front just how bad. But this time, I simply couldn't bring myself to tell Garrus the truth. He was probably going to die here, and I didn't want to say it out loud. Mainly because I couldn't stand to hear it. "We're getting you out of here, Garrus," I promised. "Just hold on."

Zaeed crouched down beside me. "He's not going to make it."

Had rage-Erin still been in control, I think she would have killed him.

But I chose to ignore him. Instead, I brought up my omni-tool and poured full liters of medigel into Garrus's body. "Radio Joker," I ordered. "Make sure they're ready for us." Garrus didn't say anything, but he looked up at me with pained, desperate onyx eyes. I could see the fear through his blue reticule. I could sense the agony. He made terrible sounds deep in his throat, but my ears only semi-heard them. All my attention was fixed in his eyes. _Not ready yet_, they told me. _Not like this. I need to be here to protect you.  
_

"Hold on, friend," I whispered. "Please."


	4. Extremes

Jacob and I sat in silence, staring at the grey walls of the comm room. I fought the urge to pace. Pacing was such a… cliché. I had always found it laughable when they did it in the movies or on the extranet vids. But when you're the one waiting for the doctor's report, the urge is hard to resist.

I had spent the last twenty minutes studying my own hand, to the point where I could probably sketch my own fingerprint. I'd had enough. The silence was killing me almost as much as the waiting. I raised my eyes and looked at Jacob, trying to keep my expression as close to blank as possible. "Alright, Taylor. No bullshit. What do you think? What are his chances?"

Jacob slumped his head, like someone had attached a weight to it. "Commander, I can't answer that question," he said. "I'm not a doctor."

"I didn't ask for a medical opinion, Taylor. I asked for yours." I scowled, biting back bitter tears. I was still angry, still scared. My stomach was a pit. "Damn it, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to snap."

"I understand, Commander."

Swallowing hard, I got to my feet and walked to one end of the room, only dimly aware of my muscles moving. Then I walked back. "Hell on Earth," I whispered. Instinct had taken over. I was pacing.

"You care about him, don't you?"

My eyes shot back over to Jacob, closely studying his face. I still didn't know what he was doing here, waiting with me. "Garrus is my friend," I said. "My comrade. I relied on him two years ago like you can't imagine." I bit my lip softly, debating what to say. "You seem like a good man, Jacob, and I trust you. But not like Garrus. I trust Garrus like I trust gravity. It's like… I don't even have to think about it. I just know, subconsciously, that he's there.

"It's lame, I know. But he's my twin sniper. I need him."

I'm ashamed of what happened next, even though I know anyone in my position would have done the same. I let myself fall against the wall, dropped my head, and cried. Soundlessly at first. Just wet tears. But then I started making tiny whimpering noises, and I knew Jacob heard them.

"Shepard?"

I glared up at him. "This does not leave this room. Got it, Taylor?"

"Commander, you don't have to be ashamed. It's totally normal to--"

I was in no mood for psychology 101. "Do you understand the order, or don't you?"

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "I understand, ma'am."

And then he left.

I was glad when I saw him walk out the door, but once his footsteps had faded, I found myself wishing he were back. It's soft, yes. But I did want a shoulder to cry on. And like the ever-loving idiot I am, I had sent it running off.

Then, silence crept back in. I counted my own steps meticulously while the faucet of tears continued pouring. What was I going to do if Garrus didn't make it? Seriously. What? I was still a fantastic sniper, a great commander, a Spectre, et cetera. I had been fine without him these last few missions. But how the hell was I supposed to bounce back from watching him die? Only bitter selflessness and righteous anger had kept me going after Williams's death. I had driven myself to catch Saren, just so I could stop him from doing to others what he'd done to me.

Williams's death was Saren's doing. It was on Saren's hands. But this one was my fault. _I_ had spared Cathka. I had been too cowardly to kill him in cold blood, and now Garrus was slipping away because of it. Hell no. This wasn't what I wanted. I had _not_ become a Spectre just so I could watch everyone I care about die. A person can only take so much.

Selfish, it was. But I knew, at that moment, that if Garrus died tonight… I would be done. I'd leave this ship. Goodbye Council, goodbye Cerberus. Reapers, enjoy your damn galaxy.

"Hell," I whispered. This was it.

Within five minutes, the tears had dried, and the puffiness had disappeared from my eyes. But the feeling in my chest wasn't a _cry it out _kind of feeling. It was raw, grating anxiety, confusion mixed with equal parts fear and desperation to know. Ten thousand out-of-tune violins played the same endless, jarring note in my head, refusing to let me think about anything other than Garrus Vakarian. I had to know if he was going to make it. If he died, it would be my fault… and I'd have to figure out how to live with that. If I could. There was gnawing pain in my chest, and if Garrus didn't make it, I knew that pain would turn into a dead weight, a cold, soul-sucking burden that I'd have to carry with me for the rest of my days. Dark thoughts traced their way through my head. _Leave. Leave this ship. Drag yourself to the absolute worst corners of the galaxy. Punish yourself, with a world of pain and suffering. Kill some scum, murder some bottom feeders. Go back to Omega, find that batarian Cathka if he's still alive. Put a bullet in his skull. Then see about putting one in yours. _Crazy. And I was ready to do it._  
_

But Garrus hadn't died yet. And now, all I wanted to know was whether I would see my friend again.

"Commander." Jacob Taylor walked through the door, and behind his stoic face I could see the bright energy in his eyes. I don't know if there's a chemical in the human brain called "relief," but at that moment, I could feel the floodgates of it getting ready to open.

Still, I had to hear it from his mouth. "What do you have to report, Taylor?"

Jacob put his datapad down on the table and said, "We've done what we could for Garrus, but he took a bad hit. The doc's corrected him with surgical procedures, and some cybernetics. Best we can tell, he'll have full functionality. But…"

I sensed him before I saw him, like static electricity in the air behind me. Hard armored boots struck the metal floor behind me. I turned around. Garrus looked like absolute shit: scars and seared flesh down his right cheek, cracked and burned armor, dull skin, tired eyes. He looked fresh out of hell with the lousy t-shirt to prove it. And I can't remember ever seeing a more welcome sight. All the dark thoughts from moments before slipped away -- I wouldn't have to go to any extremes. Garrus was here.

"Tough son of a bitch," Jacob said. "Didn't think he'd be up yet."

I failed to bite back a wide smile. Garrus stalked toward me, looking more peeved than anything else. "Nobody would give me a mirror," he said, pointing a sharp talon at my chest. "How bad is it?"

Despite the rushing tsunami of relief I was feeling, I did my best to keep my body language blank. Garrus has never been one to express affection freely. Neither have I. We tend to leave things subtle and implicit, conveying a world's worth of emotion with a snarky remark or a quick grin. Regardless, I think we understand how much we mean to each other. "The doctors did what they could," I said, smiling softly as I approached him. "But there's going to be some permanent damage."

He studied me closely for a second, looking straight into my eyes. I caught a hint of disappointment in his face. But then he grinned. "Some women find facial scars attractive," he said. "Mind you, most of those women are krogan."

Jacob gave me a rigid salute, then left, his footsteps quickly fading away. I looked up at Garrus and, with a smile, brushed over the cracked armor of his shoulder with the back of my hand. "I'm glad you're okay," I whispered.

He gave me a second-long grin. Then he turned away, head shaking. "Frankly, I'm more worried about you. Cerberus, Shepard? You remember those sick experiments they were doing?"

"The Collectors are wiping out human colonies, Garrus. Nobody else cares enough to stop it."

Garrus nodded his head once. It was a tiny, subtle gesture, but it conveyed sheer terabytes of meaning. Understanding, support, trust -- if there was anyone in the galaxy whose approval I needed to reaffirm my decision to stick with Cerberus, it was him. He would understand. Sometimes you have no choice.

"I'm fit for duty whenever you need me, Shepard," he said. "I'll settle in at the forward battery and see what I can do." Then, with another quick nod, he turned around and left. Heavy boots resounded against the metal floor with the kind of weight and rhythm that only a turian could produce. _Step. Step. Step. _It was a familiar beat, and I had missed it dearly. I grinned.

Garrus was back. Really and truly. My scope had its twin once again. My soul had a place to rest. And finally, after way too much turmoil and worry, all was well.

Bah. Yeah right. All was _far _from well. But at the very least, things were starting to turn up.

Err… possibly.


	5. 22nd Century Cowboy

"You know what? I've decided you were right."

The forward battery was a new component to the Normandy SR2, and I couldn't help feeling like I had taken a wrong turn somewhere as I walked in. The bright, well-lit open spaces of the crew deck suddenly gave way to a cramped metallic closet, soaked with the kind of dark red light one would expect from a prison, complete with the tight corners and cold, heavy air. It was one of the few sections of the new Normandy I hadn't visited yet. Garrus tapped out a few commands on the console he was working over, then turned around and greeted me with a quick turian smile. "Really, now? What am I right about this time?"

"Hell, Garrus. I read Doctor Chakwas's report. You realize you died on the operating table, right? _Died_. As in, your heart stopped and she had to start it again."

He regarded me with a bemused expression. "Your point?"

"It hasn't been two hours since you were _dead_, Garrus, and you're already hard at work. Come on. This isn't a sweatshop. You're allowed to relax."

Garrus typed sightlessly and one-handed, his eyes remaining locked with mine. I saw the computer screen flash repeatedly. "This gun needs me, Shepard. It's like someone went through the trouble of writing a book and left all the good parts out. All the hard numbers and algorithms are in place, but there are just so _many_ easy improvements to make. I couldn't resist."

"You're messing with the gun?" I asked. "EDI won't like that."

He pointed a talon at something on the screen that I couldn't read. "Look here. The realized magnetic shift is set to eight microns per second. I can switch it to ten… and all of a sudden, this gun is capable of bypassing pretty much any standard-issue ionized kinetic shield. It's a little trick I learned on Omega. Quick and simple."

My heart started hammering in my chest. "Wait. You're saying we can shoot right through a Collector ship's shield?"

"Not quite. Ionized shields are the cheapest of the cheap, and the Collectors have technology a thousand times better." He shrugged. "But hey, if we get attacked by any lowlife pirates, they won't stand a chance."

I chuckled, my head shaking in short, quick spurts. "Not like they stood a chance before. You're on the Normandy now, turian. This is the most advanced little ship in the galaxy."

He grinned to himself. "Point."

So that was it, then? It really was going to be this easy. We walked in on Garrus by sheer coincidence, pulled his ass from the fire, and now he was ready to fight at my side again just like that. It spoke volumes about how much he trusted me. This was a Cerberus ship, after all. He was as out of place as a peace activist at a gun range, a (well-armed) sheep in a den of wolves. Hell, I had barely told him a thing about our mission. Did he even know what we were doing, or how much danger he was volunteering himself for? Yet here he was, back on my crew like… had I even asked him to come back on Omega? Hah. No I hadn't. But the invitation was unspoken. When there were wrongs to right, Garrus didn't ask questions. He grabbed the sniper rifle and fought.

Usually I'm good at understanding people's motivations, but Garrus was a hard one to pin down. Two years ago, when he asked to join my crew, I had been convinced he was just a trigger-happy cop, an ex-soldier eager to get back to the action. The battlefield gives you a kind of high, and some people really get addicted to it. Garrus, I had assumed, was just another battle-starved turian. Though he was a sharp enough shot that I tolerated it.

Then we went after Dr. Saleon, and I realized I was wrong. Garrus was no dumb gun. He was an anomaly -- naïve enough that he still wanted to save the world, yet far too jaded to believe in things like law and bureaucracy. He was a soldier sickened by the futility of his position. A wild libertarian, a free spirit at heart, quick to the trigger and to hell with the consequences. _Gunslinger_, if I had to describe him with a single word. He would have fit in perfectly with all those cowboys and freebooters of the American Ancient West… you know, aside from him being a turian. But the worst evildoers in history begin with good intentions. Normally people like him crashed, failed, hit a wall and gave up, crossed the line somewhere and became the thing they had set out to defeat. Or they got killed. But Garrus had a leg up on all the vengeful souls who went the freelancer route -- he had an insatiable thirst for justice. He saw needless suffering and thought, _hell_, why doesn't someone just kill the bastard behind it? Call him selfless all you want. In reality, he's as selfish as the rest of us. By fighting with me, by freelancing on Omega, he's doing exactly what he wants to do.

Two years ago, Garrus Vakarian had been the real Spectre. I was the one with the title and the license, but he was the one with the drive. We disagreed on methods sometimes, but nobody could tell me that he didn't deserve the status. The role of Spectre fit him perfectly. And it would have kept him happy for life.

I didn't let him kill Saleon. I convinced him to turn the bastard over to the authorities. Not because I gave a shit about Saleon, but because I didn't want to see Garrus go down the wrong path. Monsters are born of pain and grief and anger and vengeance, and Garrus's heart was full of them. I like to think I taught him a few things. But really, I think it was he who ended up influencing me, teaching me a few of _his_ lessons. The importance of justice. The brute-force method to solving a problem. The fact that not every mission has to come as an official case file with fresh signatures from the Council. And most of all, the value of a well-placed bullet.

I leaned against the wall and breathed in the cold air, realizing that it didn't feel as heavy as it once had. I gave him a long, sweeping look-over. "It's good to have you back, Garrus," I said. "Really. I'm glad there's someone on this ship I can trust."

He smiled, shrugged. "What can I say? I have a trustworthy face."

My attention shifted over to the battery, and I traced the lengths of all the metal pipes and long wires of the main gun with my eyes. It looked wildly intricate, not like anything the Alliance installed on their ships. I know a fair bit about tech and engineering, but I couldn't even begin to make sense of how this gun worked. No wonder Garrus came straight here. The only thing he loves as much as justice is weapons -- the biggest, strongest, smartest, and best. "So the gun looks good, then?"

At that, his features brightened. "It's incredible, Shepard. I thought I'd seen every weapon in the galaxy in our fight against Saren. Mercenary work showed me otherwise." He chuckled, staring at the main gun with pride. "And now Cerberus rebuilds the Normandy, with a few upgrades to boot. I wish we'd joined up with them sooner."

I clamped my eyes shut tight, an expression of exasperation. "We are not _with _Cerberus. We are _using _Cerberus. Remember that."

"Okay, _Commander_," he mocked. A few seconds of silence. "Honestly though, this crew has been as friendly to me as people from a group like Cerberus can be. And they've got you vouching for them."

It was true, I guess. I don't like Cerberus one bit, but the crew they'd given me was fantastic. Aside from Miranda, they were mostly ex-Alliance. Good, loyal people. I could vouch for them indeed.

"I can't exactly doubt your judgment," Garrus said. His head slumped a little, and his features darkened. He was quiet for a moment. "Not after I got my own squad killed."

Upon hearing that, my stomach lurched and dropped. Guilt welled up as quickly as the relief from the before. _Hell on Earth! _We had just saved Garrus from a literal siege by the three most powerful mercenary crews on Omega, and I hadn't even taken a second to find out what happened. I knew only what Aria had told me: that he was some sort of freelancer vigilante, and the mercenaries hated him. Poor Garrus had been alone for two years. It was difficult for me to understand just what that meant -- I still remembered the day we said goodbye on the Citadel like it was last month. But a few hours ago, I had been ready to do drastic things if Garrus died. If I was half as important to him as he was to me, living for two years with my death must have been a trial.

I owed it to him to hear him out. "What did your merc squad do? It didn't sound like you were available for hire."

Garrus shook his head, weary. "You saw Omega -- it was full of thugs kicking the helpless. I formed my team to kick back." His eyes turned back to the console, and he traced a series of numbers and figures with a nail. Distracting himself. Stalling. "We weren't mercenaries. At least, nobody was paying us. We made money by taking down slavers, pirates, or gangs that went too far.

"Every member of my team had lost someone to Omega's gangs. We weren't out to get rich. We were out to make those bastards think twice before murdering someone in the street."

His words brought to mind images from those classic Western movies I had watched as a kid. Technology-wise, they looked God awful compared to modern films. But that didn't stop me from loving them. On long nights on board whatever space station my parents were assigned to at the time, I would scour the extranet for remastered versions of old Western classics (thank _you_, Public Domain), and watch with fascination as ancient heroes like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood got business _done_. There was something wildly appealing in skirting the rules, forgetting the consequences, and doing what you knew was right. That was Garrus. One of the timeless cinema cowboys. Yeah… Garrus reminded me of an old John Wayne. Or maybe a somewhat less lovably cheesy Nathan Fillion.

"It doesn't sound like you made any friends with the gangs," I said. My grip of the obvious is stunning sometimes.

Garrus got a flash of cockiness in his eyes. "I got three separate merc bands to work together to take me down," he said. "My manager at C-Sec would be impressed." He shrugged. "It was actually pretty easy to make them hate us. We'd hit their shipments, disrupt activities, get under their skin. Make them angry."

"Sounds like you were pretty successful."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Until we bit it."

Obviously this was what was eating at him. Garrus and I are not angsty teenagers. Far from it. We're both extraordinarily tough -- you have to be, to do what we do. But nobody can go through losing a squad without emotional scars. Even the toughest of the tough need a shoulder sometimes. Two years ago, he had given me one after Virmire. I owed him one back.

With silent, understanding eyes, I asked, "How did those mercenary gangs take down your team?"

He was quick to respond. "It was my own damn fault," he scowled, eyes dropping to the floor on reflex. "One of my own people betrayed me. A turian named Sidonis. He drew me away just before the mercs attacked my squad, then he disappeared." Garrus started stalking out of the main battery with long, heavy steps, and I followed close behind. "Everyone except me is dead because of him. Because I didn't see it coming."

I was ready to tell him not to blame himself, but I realized that it would be futile. I'd be doing the exact same thing in his position. Of course. People like us can't help but blame ourselves when things go wrong -- it's an occupational hazard of the warrior.

If I knew Garrus, there was only one thing on his mind. Only one thing he wanted. I addressed it. "Do you know where Sidonis is now?"

He shook his head. "No. His trail vanishes after he leaves Omega. But I'll keep hunting." His eyes moved past me, straight forward, and they took on a fresh quality of hardness as he stared out into space. "I lost my whole team, except for Sidonis. One day I'll find him… and correct that."

Damn, was he determined. I had heard that same voice, that same icy determination before. It was the same way he used to speak about Saren. About Saleon. It assured me and terrified me all at once.

"Thanks for coming by, Shepard. I've got some things to take care of." Garrus moved past swiftly, making his way back into the main battery. But he stopped suddenly just outside the door. "Wait. You never did answer my question."

"What question?"

"You said I was right." Garrus turned around, regarding me with a cocky smile. "About what?"

Oh. Right.

That.

I felt my skin tightening, my fingertips tingling as I remembered the rage. I could see Cathka's four slick batarian eyes in front of me, see his fleshy back turned and exposed. I could feel the sodder in my hand… _fuck_, what I would give to be back there, so I could shove the thing down his throat. He deserved it, every scalding, lethal inch, the furious volts of electricity coursing through his metal armor like a tidal wave. I remembered the pit of nausea in my stomach as I watched Tarak's ship gun Garrus down to the ground, the red fury as blood pooled around his still body. I remembered Tarak's eyes, the horror in them, and the joy of watching him die. Hate. Simple, white-hot hate bubbled inside, the kind that makes you tremble, makes you want to dig nails into steel. Tarak and Cathka, and all their detestable, sinful, _worthless_ ilk, deserved nothing more. Why I had ever thought different… was beyond me.

"Mercenaries," was what I said, my voice low and threatening. "Slavers, pirates, murderers-for-hire. The ones who hurt and kill because they enjoy it, because it's easy, because they _can_. You were right about them all along. They gave up justice's protection. The only right they have left is the right to a bullet through the skull."

He regarded me with careful confusion for a long minute, as if unsure of what to say. Then he chuckled nervously. "Awfully cowboy of you, Erin."

"You should have killed Dr. Saleon," I said, my face completely still, my eyes locked on his. A long, cold, and heavy silence passed between us.

Then I added, "When we find Sidonis… fire at will."


	6. The Ship of Theseus

_A/N: This next chapter is... different. A lot more abstract than what you'd normally see in fanfiction. But this is Erin Shepard's story, not mine, and as much as I protest, this is what she insists on doing next. Writing it was challenging and incredible, but I don't know how interesting it'll be to read... you have been warned._

* * *

I have a very fast mind. Usually that's an asset, but sometimes, when I'm alone and with nothing to do, I start thinking too much for my own good. There is something about being alone that makes my brain wander to places it shouldn't go.

That night, I was alone.

I have books in my quarters on the SR2. Yes, books. Actual, physical constructs of paper and cardboard, with printed ink and laminated covers and not a single hint of digital on them. Very few people nowadays bother with actual books, but I've always preferred the real thing to digital electronic copies. There's something appealing about holding a book in your hands, about running your fingers down sturdy spines and flipping through crisp, rough pages. Plus I've always thought that a bookshelf says a lot about its owner. Long rows of volumed encyclopedias, colorless spines, and thick, clinical scholarly texts like "Quantum Spin Liquids in Absolute Zero Vacuums" or "The New Encyclopedia of Turian Endocrinology" said: well-educated, pigeon-holed, and unimaginative. A disorganized bookshelf liberally stacked with trashy romance novels and bland mainstream kiosk fiction said: into cheap thrills and far too busy to experience anything meaningful.

What would my bookshelf say about me? Hell if I know.

I hadn't brought my personal library with me on the first Normandy. I had kept it all in a tiny studio apartment on the Citadel. But I had been pleasantly surprised to find that the Illusive Man had retrieved it all for Normandy number two, down to the last old, secondhand manuscript from my Academy days. Why he did it, I don't know. But I won't complain. My new bookshelf on the SR2 was stacked with everything one could imagine. Trashy romances and mainstream kiosk fiction were there, in places, I admit. Nothing wrong with cheap thrills on occasion. Beside that, there was a long row of modern genre fiction, which stood next to thick and colorful anthologies of classic literature -- everything from Shakespeare and Cervantes to Clarke and Asimov and Jim Butcher. Two novels, _Revelations _and _Ascension _by historical fiction author Drew Karpyshyn, were new additions to the shelf, presumably assigned reading for me hand-selected by Sir Illusive. Hadn't gotten around to them yet. Next, there were dictionaries in a long laundry list of languages, both Earth-based and otherwise, each weighing a solid metric ton. Textbooks, long rows of them covering every conceivable subject, stood aligned below the anthologies and paperback novels. My original collection of textbooks had been mostly old and worn from years of use in the Academy, but Cerberus had taken the liberty of providing me with new copies, updated to the latest edition.

I don't know why I kept my old textbooks. I certainly don't know why Cerberus brought them on board the Normandy. But I was alone that night, and we were at least forty hours out from our rendezvous with the _Purgatory_. My mind had been doing that toxic wandering stuff for the last several hours. And now, I found myself sliding a long, thick, and wide cube of a book out of the shelf, thumbing through crisp white pages I had never expected to touch again.

The book was called _Introduction to Philosophy: Classical and Contemporary Readings_. It was from a course I barely remembered, one that I had only taken because it was required. But something had been tossing pretty frantically in my head for the last half hour, driving me to find the answer in this massive anthology. I took a second to scan the index, then flipped to a page somewhere in the middle of the book.

**_The Paradox of the Ship of Theseus:_**

_An ancient Greek legend told the story of the Ship of Theseus, which the hero Theseus used to sail back to Athens after slaying the Minotaur of Crete. The ship was revered by the citizens and became a symbol of Athenian glory, so much so that it was preserved in Athens Harbor for two hundred years, to the time of Demetrius Phalereus. Every year, a few of the oars and wooden planks of the ship would decay with the salt water. Athenian workers removed these rotting planks and replaced them with newer, sturdier lumber, storing the old pieces in a warehouse outside the city. _

_Eventually there came a day when none of the original planks were left. They had all been removed and replaced, and the ship of Theseus was made up completely of new wood. So where was the real Ship of Theseus? Was it still there, floating in Athens Harbor? Or was it in the warehouse where they stored all the old, original planks?_

Damn it. I had never been big on philosophy. Never seen the point. But since the day I read this paradox, I had been unable to forget it. It stuck like a hot brand in my mind. And I couldn't even begin to answer the question. Where _was _the Ship of Theseus? Could you really say that the ship floating in Athens Harbor, made of new, untouched wood, was the same damn ship? Say you've got an old, trusty rifle that you bring to every battle, and over the years the parts rust and backfire and overheat, and you have to replace them again and again until none of the original components remain. Is it still the same trusty rifle? It didn't make logical sense. Of course not! There is nothing of the original left.

Now say you take a person, and you kill her. And say an infinitely wealthy organization collects the body after several hours in the oxygen-deprived, freezing cold void of space, replaces all the dead organs, regrows all the frozen tissue, fills the holes with cybernetics and artificial muscle. Say they recreate her brain, give her all the memories and thought processes of the original person. Say, somehow, that they wake her up, bring her back to life.

Who the hell is she? How can you say she is the same person?

I spat a bitter curse and threw the massive book on the ground, hearing it crash with a loud and sudden _plunk_. I stared at my own hands for a long minute. Cerberus had made these hands. Grown them in a big tube somewhere, probably. They had recovered me from space after _hours _and _hours _of orbital decay. They had regrown and replaced every damn part of me -- heart, muscles, brain. How could anyone say I was Erin Shepard? How could anyone say I was "back"? It was goddamned nonsensical! Erin Shepard had died two years ago. Dead. Gone. No more. _Hasta luego_. And Cerberus had spent a billion credits creating nothing more than a really good, really capable copy. Dead flesh, artificial organs, surrogate tissue, cybernetics. A recreated Shepard, a sculpture built cell-by-cell.

That was me.

It was a very inconvenient time to have an identity crisis, I know. I still felt like Erin Shepard. I still remembered all the things I'd done before my death. I still held all my old beliefs and convictions… well, some of those were changing, but not because of anything Cerberus had done. I still had a job to do. Regardless of what any of this meant, I had far too many people counting on me to let it bog me down. The Ship of Theseus is only a problem on paper -- in reality, those Athenians had gathered to revere the thing floating in the harbor year in and year out. They never stopped calling it the Ship of Theseus, regardless of how many planks had been replaced. It was only a paradox if you let it be.

But none of that offered me much comfort now. One of the curses of a quick and logical mind is that it doesn't accept "just let it go" as an excuse. I was stuck. There was no way around it, no possible, rational argument extant on this plane of reality, that could tell me I was the same person from the Normandy SR1. The simple truth was that Erin was dead.

And where in this goddamned black void did that leave _me_?

* * *

It was unsettling, finding the mess hall completely empty. I could hear a few snores and stirs from the dormitories down the hall, feel footsteps above me as the night shift moved around the CIC. If I really listened, I could even hear the _taptaptaptap _of rapid typing coming from Miranda's office. But in the dining hall itself, there was not a soul.

Off-duty boots dragged against the metal floor as I made my way to Rupert's mess station. He had stacked his cups, dishes, and utensils in perfect rows and columns, so spotlessly clean that it almost looked like a work of modern art. I took a second to admire the man's organization. Then I grabbed a grey mug from one of the countertops and poured myself a cup of coffee out of the hot thermos that Rupert always prepares and leaves out before going to sleep. I reminded myself to thank him later.

Five sugars. Two creams. After debating it for a long minute, I picked one of those little cocktail bottles of whiskey from a nearby counter and emptied it into my cup as well. Then I stirred, carefully and meticulously.

3:00 AM coffee runs only happened when something was bothering me. If there was whiskey involved, things were that much worse.

As I settled down on a table and prepared to drink my coffee, a loud commotion exploded from the medical bay. Huge -- simply _huge _-- numbers of tiny instruments crashed to the floor, metal hitting metal with a thousand thunderous _clanks_. My head shot over to the door. I heard a soft, whispered curse come from inside, too low for me to understand. Then a few seconds later, I saw Mordin Solus come out, a small, thin tube in his left hand.

He looked at me with stunned silence for a moment. Then he nodded. "Shepard."

I took a short sip of coffee. "What the hell happened in there, Mordin?"

"Small accident. Was looking for something." He held up the tube. "Dropped some things. Please do not tell Doctor Chakwas."

"Mind if I ask what's in that tube?"

He nodded again, then walked over and joined me at my table. He placed the tube down in front of him. I could immediately tell what it was: cylindrical in shape, with a series of numbers running up its length like a measuring cup, and a black screw-on top. A piece of tape was wrapped around it, with the words _E. Shepard _scrawled in clean, geometrical handwritten pen. And it was filled to the brim with thick, dark red liquid. It was my blood sample.

I glared at him, expression half shock and half serial killer horror. "What the _hell_, Mordin?"

"Confusion understandable. Stealing blood samples not normal behavior."

"You bet it isn't." I studied his face, somewhat frustrated by his complete lack of emotion. He didn't look embarrassed, or apologetic, or creepy, or anything at all. "You mind telling me what you're doing with five milliliters of my blood?"

"Long story. Has to do with tests for seeker swarm countermeasure. Developing a new theory using blood iron to create supersonic magnetic pulses, and needed a sample of human blood. Figured I would take yours."

I was still mildly off-put, but I honestly didn't know what to say. "Gosh, Mordin. If you needed blood, you could have asked."

He shrugged. "Considered it. Wasn't sure which one was less socially inappropriate: asking people for blood, or stealing it."

I sat in silence for a while, taking two or three long drinks of coffee. Mordin was doing what he had to do, I guess. Finally I said, "You're working pretty late. Don't you get tired?"

"Salarian metabolism heightened. We need only four hours of sleep a day. I have gone with less in the past."

Only four hours. That would be nice, wouldn't it? "Coffee?" I asked. It only took me a second to realize that offering Mordin coffee was quite possibly the worst decision I had ever made.

Luckily, he shook his head. "You are up rather late as well, Commander." He took a long, deep breath. "I smell acyclic acid."

"Excuse me?"

"Acyclic acid. C2H5OH." He cleared his throat. "Alcohol?"

Bah. Right. I knew the chemical formula for alcohol. I looked at him, just a little bit embarrassed. "I put a little whiskey in my coffee," I admitted, my eyes dropping straight down and staring into the black pit of liquid in my mug. "It's been a long night."

"Something you want to talk about?"

I looked up at him. He was sitting with his hands clasped together, his expression completely serious. Mordin Solus wanted to hear me bear my soul. _Mordin_. My God, I must have looked even worse than I thought. I was almost embarrassed to say anything, considering how foolish I felt that it was bothering me at all. I didn't have time to be pining over who I was, damn it! Far more important things waited ahead. The Reapers didn't care how many bloody organs had been replaced -- they would kill me regardless of who Aristotlean logic said I was. The Ship of Theseus was a problem for old, stodgy philosophers to debate, not the first human Spectre.

But I couldn't help it. Some might say that philosophy is a poison for the mind, a curse that you place on yourself by reading it. A good philosopher could convince you that the damned world around you didn't exist, for hell, and it would kill any motivation to do anything. Maybe I should never have thought about what had happened to me, never let myself consider what the Lazarus Project meant. But now it was one of those things that I couldn't unthink. And it wouldn't stop bothering me until I talked about it.

I sighed. "Mordin, have you ever heard of the Ship of Theseus?"

"Of course. Human version of a universal philosophical paradox considering the nature of identity. Salarians have our own legend. The Ring of Five. Five spies infiltrate a kingdom as a single espionage ring. One by one, they get caught and executed, and a new spy comes to take the dead spy's place. Eventually none of the original five are left. So is it still the same Ring of Five?"

I nodded. It wasn't too hard to come up with an example of the paradox. The hard part was solving it.

"Question," Mordin said. "Is this relating to your death, and subsequent revival by Cerberus?" He blinked once, and stared at me blankly.

I took another short sip of coffee. "Crap, you're good, Mordin."

"You are concerned that you are not the original Shepard, yes? You are wondering how you could have survived, if so little of the original Shepard is left."

"So little?" I shook my head. "No, Mordin. There is none. Numerous holes were blown through my body, necrosis in all my major organs, and the skin tissue that was left got frozen solid and had to be removed. I had a suit breach, and space is two degrees above absolute zero. No way any of me survived."

He waited for me to finish. Then he said, "It is a baseless concern."

I sat in silence for several moments. "Come--"

"It is a baseless concern," he repeated, mowing down my words with his own. "The Paradox of the Ship of Theseus cannot be applied to you any more than it can be applied to me, or to anyone else."

I studied him. "What do you mean?"

"Our bodies are made of atoms, yes?" He nodded for me, refusing to wait for my answer. "Billions of trillions of them. More. And every day, countless numbers of them come loose, get excreted, fall off with dead skin cells. They are replaced with atoms from outside sources. The food we eat. The air we breathe."

I drank more coffee as he spoke, and I suddenly realized what he meant. This coffee was made of the same basic stuff that I was: carbon, hydrogen, potassium. Some of it would, eventually, get used to make new cells. Some of it would become part of me.

Mordin continued. "In a few years, all the atoms that currently constitute _me_ will have been removed and replaced, just like the planks from the Ship of Theseus. Yet there is no doubt in my mind that I will still be Mordin. I cannot argue it logically. I simply know it." He blinked. "The nature of identity is an intriguing question, but in the end, it is baseless. Wandering about it gets you nothing."

After a long pause, I stiffened, thinking about what he had said. He was right. A hundred percent so. Given enough time, nobody and no thing remained the same.

"We all get rebuilt, Shepard," he said. "It just happened to you cell-by-cell, rather than atom-by-atom." He stared, shrugged. "A difference in scale of ten to the sixteenth power."

Ten to the sixteenth power, huh? I ran a finger down the length of my cheek, probably shredding off a good trillion atoms as I did it. Then I stared at Mordin. "What do you think?" I asked. "What's your opinion on identity? How are we supposed to know who we are?"

For the first time that night, I made Mordin pause before he answered. He pondered the question for several long moments. Then he said, "You are asking a metaphysical question. I do not do well with metaphysics. I cannot answer with any empirical certainty."

"Nobody can," I said quickly.

He curled his fingers, seemingly considering it. "My opinion, then?"

I nodded.

He said, "Identity is consciousness. You are Shepard because you know you are Shepard. You remember being Shepard before, you think like Shepard now. You have the knowledge, the memories, the beliefs of Shepard. In future realities, there is another iteration that calls itself Shepard, and you identify with it. You do things with the status of the future Shepard in mind because you both share the same consciousness. You prepare for the future because you know you will _be _Shepard in the future. It is instinctive."

I drank another long sip of coffee. "So I'm me because I think I'm me?" I shrugged. "That isn't very logical, Mordin."

The salarian shook his head. "Metaphysics. Logic does not work here. That is why I hate it."

And then he was quiet. I went for another drink of coffee, but when I put the cup to my lips, I realized it was empty. So instead I put the cup down on the table. Mordin Solus had just told me I was overthinking. A louder message could not have been sent. "Thanks, Mordin," I said. "I think I understand."

Before he got up to leave, he pointed a bony salarian finger at my head. "Shepard is in there," he said. "In the mind."

And then he grabbed his vial of blood and headed for the elevator. Soundlessly, I took my mug back to the mess station, washed it out with water, and stacked it with the rest. By the time I got to the elevator, my eyes were growing heavy. Sleep was coming over me at last. Despite the coffee-with-whiskey.

Shepard was in the mind. Hell. Is it weird to get inspired by yourself? Modesty is a virtue, but let's be honest here: Erin Shepard was a hero. She had done the impossible once already.

I stared at my own fuzzy reflection on the crisp metal of the elevator wall. I knew I had what it took to do it again.


	7. Foil

Jack was going to be a trial.

The woman moved down the Normandy's halls with the kind of speedy enthusiasm one would expect from a child exploring a new toy store. She had the Cerberus datapad held tight in both hands, and she circled it through the air as she skipped. I followed her. Every few seconds, she would glance back to see if I was still behind her, give me a snarl, and keep moving.

Finally we got to the elevator. She glared at me, her eyes sending out gamma rays of hostility. "What, are you my mom now? Fuck off."

"I just want to make sure you get set up okay," I said. _And make sure you don't rip any vital systems apart for the sheer hell of it. _I didn't dare say the second part.

The convict crossed her arms, hugging the datapad against her stomach. "I can set myself up just fine. So again, fuck off."

But I wasn't going to give up that easily. "The captain oversees integration of every new member of the crew. It's ship policy. Has to be done."

Jack gave me a bitter scowl. "Let's get one thing straight, hero. I am _not _a member of your crew. I'm not one of your little squadmates, I'm not part of the Cerberus officer's club, and I am sure as hell not your friend. I'm here because violence follows you, and I take my pleasures whenever I can get them. Call me when there's something to kill. Till then…" her eyes thinned, "F-U-C-K… O-F-F."

The elevator arrived, and she went in, her hand going straight to the DOOR CLOSE button. But I slipped in anyway. "I'm not leaving you alone until I'm convinced you're settled in," I said. Jack groaned. She pressed the FOUR button -- engineering.

"Fine, hero. Though I don't know what you hope to accomplish. I don't plan on staying up till one AM with you painting our toenails and wondering how big Taylor's cock is."

I did my best to ignore that comment, but I found myself blushing nonetheless. "I don't paint my toenails," I said quickly, dropping my head so she wouldn't notice my reddening cheeks. "But I do look after my crew. And you're on my ship, so like it or not, you're my crew."

"Whatever, hero." The elevator door opened. She planted a hand against my stomach and pushed herself off.

She moved swiftly down the main hall of the engineering deck. I followed. I almost had to run to keep up. We made our way to the starboard cargo deck, which she entered with all the pride of a savanna lioness, disappearing behind the wall. I heard Zaeed yell, "Oi! What the fuck?" Then a second later, Jack reemerged.

"Taken," she said. She thrust past me and made her way into the engineering control room, giving Gabby a sneer before disappearing down the nearby catwalk.

Gabby gave me one of those looks. "Wha…"

"New crew member," I said. "She's a bit… eccentric, but we can handle it. Where's Ken?"

"On break. Boy, he's going to enjoy this new addition." Gabby stared down the catwalk where Jack had disappeared. "I don't even know what's down that ramp. It's not my place to judge, Commander, but are you sure it's a good idea to be bringing someone so, _ahem_, eccentric on board the ship?"

"We can handle it," I said again. I sounded confident. I wasn't.

As I followed Jack down the catwalk, I found myself pondering my own euphemism. _Eccentric_. Bah. Jack was a goddamned freak, and a dangerous one at that. Violent, unstable, and about 20,000 newtons of pure physical force ready to pop in the span of a second. On paper, Gabby was right. Bringing this woman onto the Normandy was a massive mistake. She was my opposite in every category: I was blonde and athletic while she was slender, bald, and covered with ink. I was a sniper, she a biotic. I was logic and she was emotion. I was rigid order, she was wild entropy. I planned my days, my battles, and my moves far in advance. She did whatever the hell she felt like doing. I fought for justice, to protect. She fought because she wanted to. Would she follow the orders I gave her? Damn it all, bringing her along felt like more of a risk than she was worth.

And she was worth a lot. I had seen her rip apart the _Purgatory_'s guards like they were made of paper. I had seen her move men weighing fifty kilograms like they were freaking _feathers_. Nobody had that kind of power. Nobody. At least nobody I'd ever seen. We needed every advantage we could get, but I couldn't help worrying that she was just as likely to unleash her power on us in a fit of rage as she was to unleash it on the enemy.

And yet… she was damaged. What a cliché, right? But it was true. I didn't know much about Jack yet, but I knew she was hurting. I knew Cerberus had done a lot to make her hurt. And by God, if I sent this woman on her way, I knew that pain would never, ever leave her. Pain was no new sensation. Jack didn't want my help… but I owed it to her to offer it anyway.

Steeling myself, I descended into Jack's new cavern. Damn my squishy and compassionate little heart.

I don't know what you would call this part of the Normandy. The pit? The under-the-engineering-deck room? Well, apparently it was Jack's Room now, because in all of thirty seconds she had staked her claim on it. She'd laid out a couple of pistols and some biotic equipment on a nearby counter, shifted around a few crates to make chairs, and turned a long metal outcropping into a makeshift bed that looked like it was severely lacking in lumbar support. Apparently that was all she needed for home sweet home. She was lying on her back now, studying her datapad. She didn't even glance at me as I entered.

"This is your room now?" I asked. I don't know why I asked it. I knew the answer.

She nodded. "Yep." Eyes stayed fixed on the datapad.

"Care to talk?"

"Saying no won't make you go away, will it?"

I looked away, nibbling on my bottom lip as I tried to think of something to say. "Can I ask why you chose to set up here? And please don't say, 'it's dark like my soul.'"

That got a reaction out of her. She chuckled and sat up, eyes brightening as they watched me. "Do I look like one of those pathetic little neo-goths to you, hero? If I do, please tell me, because I'll have to get a new outfit to compensate."

"You look decidedly crazy, Jack. I don't think any social subgroup can hold you."

She smiled. "_That's _what I like to hear."

I decided to press my luck. "Find anything interesting in those files?"

"Your friends at Cerberus are into some nasty things," she said without a moment's pause. Her eyes became distant, kind of like Garrus's had when he was telling me about Sidonis. "I'm going to find something I can use. I just know it. And once I do, I go hunting. Anyone who screwed with me pays. Their associates pay. Their friends pay. The galaxy's going to be a whole lot emptier when I'm done."

No, not like Garrus. Garrus was after justice. He wanted to do something to alleviate the anger and the guilt he felt for losing his squad. Jack… Jack just wanted a solid, cold plate of revenge. Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she wasn't in pain. Maybe all she had was a bottomless fuel tank of hate inside that heart of hers.

"I can't let you go on a killing spree, Jack."

She gave me a glare of pure ice. No emotion was behind it, just automatic, robotic hate. "Then stop me. I'm here for your mission, hero. After that, what I do is my business."

I could only hope that, by the time this mission was over, Jack would be thinking differently. I could only hope that some combination of me, the mission, the crew, and her own internal self-assessments would have the right effect on her. For now, the best I could do was try to understand. "Tell me your history with Cerberus."

"They raised me in a research facility," she said, her voice calm, monotone, like she was reading out of a textbook. "I escaped when I was a kid. Been on the run ever since, and they've been chasing me. But soon…" she put her hand around one of the guns on the counter, staring at the chamber for a long moment. "Soon, I'm gonna chase them."

Vengeance. That was as deep as her mind ran. Jack was driven by no greater a force than vengeance, and the result was a heart hardened to a point past caring, an impenetrable wall around her soul. She didn't want help. She didn't want anyone to alleviate the hate, because she defined herself by it. She was Jack, the avenger. And all she wanted was the blood of her enemies. It was exactly the path I wanted to keep Garrus from going down.

It was a path I had to keep myself away from, too.

Jack put down the gun and scaled one of the nearby outcroppings, crouching down to meet me at eye level. "You know… this ship is a powerhouse. You could go pirate. Live like a queen."

In earlier years, I might have berated her for that comment, or at least given her a bitter and sardonic reply. But things had changed lately. All I had in me was a chuckle and a sarcastic roll of the eyes.

She gave me another scoff. "Whatever, hero. Your loss."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Hero?"

I nodded.

She sighed, a long, tired sound as she slid her body back to floor level. "Because it's what you are. It's what you've always been. Big hero Shepard, bursting through the door just in time to save the day. No disasters, no civilian casualties. Everything done right. It's ten thousand packs of sugar, and it makes me sick. The fucking _comic books _couldn't have made a better paragon."

"Is that right?" I asked. My tone was one of skeptical disbelief. I hated hearing her words, especially that last one. _Paragon_. Part of it was modesty, natural human aversion to being pelted with a snowstorm of compliments. But even more so, it was because deep inside, a part of me knew that everything she'd said was a lie. Paragon nothing. I was just idealistic and lucky. Feros, Noveria; all those missions had gone abnormally well. The real world wasn't usually that clear-cut. I knew I was a good operative, but nobody is good enough to guarantee that everything, every time, go off without a hitch. Two years ago, I'd done my best to balance an impossible moral code with the mission objectives, and I had been quick and lucky enough to have it all work out. The truth was, I hadn't been forced to make the difficult decisions. Except once. Virmire. Read _that_ mission report, and see if you still want to call me a paragon.

"You're wrong, Jack," I said. "I'm nothing more than a really good sniper. You and I have more in common than you think."

At that, she let out a dry chuckle. "Me? Come on, hero, I'm your goddamn binary opposite. You're the savior, I'm the maniac killer. You're the leader, I'm the renegade. If they were to paint a big, dramatic landscape portrait of us at Armageddon, you'd be the winged angel with holy swords and halos and white light and all that crap. And I'd be the tattooed hellspawn you're halfway to carving up."

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine it. White wings and holy battle armor. Archangel Erin, patron saint of… snipers? Not quite. "I'm not the hero, Jack. Things don't always go according to plan."

"Okay, hero." She took a second to stretch her arms. "Murder some people for ordering a drink you don't like, and then talk to me."

Long after I had left Jack's cavern for better-lit parts of the Normandy, I found that image of Holy Angel Erin stuck in my head. I have to say, it was a pretty kickass mental image. My blonde hair looked good long, and my sharp green eyes and slender, athletic frame went perfect with a set of pearly white wings, shimmering silver armor, and a broadsword burning with righteous yellow light.

It was also a lie.

I could see it clearly in my mind, that Renaissance-style landscape painting of Jack and me at Armageddon. The real one. And I was no angel. I was just a mortal, a knight with grey steel armor and a worn blade that had seen far too many battles. I was doing my best to keep my shield up against the demonic fireballs coming at me from a thousand evil creatures: mercenaries and criminals; geth armatures, Collectors, Reapers. Huddled behind me was my squad -- warriors, rebels, sorcerers and evokers. Jacob wearing chainmail with far too many kinks from where enemy swords had cut away at it. Miranda wearing dusty linen robes, hood up, conjuring a little spark of lightning in her hand. Garrus with dark leather armor and an old English longbow, aiming an arrow at the head of some hapless creature. And there was Jack. Not a demon, just a grey little human in the background, fighting to save her own ass.

Maybe I could save Jack. Maybe I could get to her. Maybe this mission, the sheer scope of it, the incredible impact of what we were doing, would change her for the better. Or maybe she'd leave this ship every bit the damaged psychopath she was now. But one thing was for sure: the tired knight in the foreground and the little figure in the background were no opposites. She was my foil. We were different in so many ways, but ultimately we were the same. Warriors. We had our goal, and deep inside, we both knew we would sacrifice _whatever it took_ to achieve it.


	8. Horizon

Let's be honest here for five minutes. Getting shot at never becomes easier. It can be your first time crouching behind a hail of bullets, or your second time, or your tenth time, or your five hundredth time. The speed, the sweat, the _plick plick plick _of little rounds, the dull thumps against your body as your armor repels projectiles that would have killed you fifty years ago -- you've got to be a real badass to face that without fear.

Of course, it's also a hell of a rush. Which is part of why I keep subjecting myself to it. I rolled on my back, throwing myself behind the cover of a shipping crate as unspeakably fast little rounds buzzed and zipped around me, displacing the air. Several crashed against the container. One struck me about mid-thigh. My shield stopped it. I don't think I've ever had a better friend than my kinetic barrier.

"Your form is fragile," Harbinger declared, the creature's booming voice momentarily blanketing the sound of gunfire. I ignored it. Yeah, yeah, I am a simple, worthless construction of blood and flesh, my life is short and meaningless. I know. I get it.

I didn't have a good picture of the battlefield in my head. I didn't even know how many foes we were facing. Bad. I shut my eyes and stopped thinking, crouched and let the Collectors' bullets do the thinking for me. I could hear an automatic weapon spew away about ten meters to the left. _One. _The solid concentrated beam of a guardian echoed directly ahead of me, resounding like sheets of metal grating against each other. _Two. _Harbinger's booming voice was… seven meters? Eight? Forty-five degree angle to the southwest, up and to the left of me. _Three. _I also heard yells and drones from at least two separate husks, one far and away at the other end of the defense platform, the second louder, close by, somewhere to the right. Really close.

I stilled for a moment, listening to the yells…

Right on me.

My body went rigid as I felt the husk's cold hand grab my armor. I yelled. How the _hell _had I not heard it until now? The husk's fingers dug into the armor, tearing apart the surface cloth, digging at the heavy material underneath. I looked up just in time to see its other hand rushing down at my face. It smacked me. Then I just saw stars.

Blinded by the pain, I shut my eyes and swung an arm forward, wrapping it around the husk's body. The creature hissed. I forced it to the ground. I felt its torso below me and swung forward with my head, planting a hard, blunt headbutt on its chest. The husk let out a gurgling scream as I groped for my pistol, and in one breath I planted the weapon against its head and fired. Twice. For good measure. These goddamned things have a really infuriating knack for surviving headshots.

Garrus's voice hit my ear with a start. "Shepard, status!"

"Just fine, Garrus," I said quickly, bringing myself to my feet. I took a second to dust my armor off. The husk lay motionless below me. "Where are you?"

"Behind cover on the other side of the tower," he said coolly. "I'm about twenty meters to the left of you, but there's a Collector drone standing between us. He's got me pinned. I don't want to chance it."

"I'll take care of it" I said. I picked up the sniper rifle I had dropped and crouched, bringing it up to my eye. It took me half a second to find the drone. It took me another half to kill it.

Garrus poked his head out from behind the tower, holding his sniper rifle at hip level and smiling. "Nicely done," he said. I heard a low, wailing sound nearby, like an overextended bass note from an old Gregorian chant. A moment later, the second husk screamed and ran out from behind the tower, its arms extended, its crazed eyes fixed on Garrus's back. I pointed and was halfway to yelling a warning at him.

But I killed the sound in my throat because, without ever taking his eyes off me, Garrus turned his body around and fired at the husk from hip level. The shot rang out sharp and loud, drowning out all the other battlefield noise. I saw the husk's head tense and rear back, like a dog that had reached the end of its leash. It took about a second for its body to catch up with the momentum of its head and fall back as well.

Garrus ran up to me. A few rogue shots hit the side of his armor, but he didn't so much as look at them as they bounced off his kinetic shield.

A moment later, he joined me behind the crate.

"Borrowing a page from the Sergio Leone playbook, are we?"

He looked at me with dark eyes. "What?"

"You fired from the hip. Classic western… nevermind." I poked my head out just in time to see two more Collectors fly in and take position next to the guardian up ahead. I whispered a curse. "Three Collectors directly ahead of us, and at least one is a guardian. It will cook us alive with its particle beam if we try to move. And then there's Harbinger."

He stared out at the horizon. "Where's our accompaniment?"

"Don't know," I said. "For now, we have to assume MIA."

He nodded gravely. "What's the plan, then?"

I slid a hand down the length of my rifle and planted my back against the shipping crate. Collector shots rang out behind us. I gave him the tiniest of grins. "I think you know."

"Therum?"

"Should be easier without the armature, right?"

Garrus shut his eyes tightly, scratching his rifle's underside with a talon. "It's dangerous. Who's going to be Alenko this time?"

"I've got better shields. I'll do it."

He gave me a long, dire look. After a second, he placed his hand on my shoulder and gripped it tightly, staring at me with still onyx eyes. "You sure?"

I nodded. "I trust you, Garrus. I know you can pull it off."

There was a long moment of silence. Well, what passes for silence when you've got a storm of Collector bullets slamming into the ground and the metal behind you. Then Garrus nodded, a steely look in his eyes. "Got your six, Erin."

I smiled, packing away my rifle. "I know. You always do." My fingers wrapped around something at my hip. "My shields won't last for more than five seconds. You've got that long. Kill the guardian first, that particle beam's a bitch."

Then I checked the heat clip on my absolute least favorite weapon, the SMG, and casually stepped out of cover.

The moment I saw the Collectors' golden eyes staring back at me from behind a wall about ten meters up, I tensed. I brought up my submachine gun and fired in short, rapid bursts, fighting the urge to leap for cover. Soldiers develop an instinctual aversion to standing in the open during combat, and it's hard to ignore an instinct. Especially when every neuron in your brain is screaming at you to follow it. The Collectors opened fire, and I held my ground underneath their rounds. I heard a shot from Garrus's gun, the sharp _bark _sound distinct from all the other bullets around me. I could only pray he'd hit his mark.

On Therum, we had been ambushed under a bridge by a huge platoon of geth. I had done my best to maintain control of the situation. I ordered Kaidan Alenko to run out of cover and move right, into a position where his biotics would hit more geth. He had given me a nod that exuded steel confidence. But the moment he stepped into the open, he froze. Too many geth, too much fear. Shock. It happens to the best of soldiers sometimes. He stood there rigid, drawing the undivided attention of every hostile around him, bullets and missiles firing at him from multiple angles…

…which had given me and Garrus open shots at everyone. By the time a rocket blasted Kaidan behind a wall and knocked him unconscious, we had killed seven geth mobiles. _Seven_. All that was left was the armature.

There was no armature this time, and there were only four enemies. But there was also only one sniper. Kaidan had survived that encounter due to nothing more than a giant helping of luck. And luck rarely strikes in the same place twice.

From behind the muzzle flash of my SMG, I couldn't see the Collectors. I couldn't tell how many Garrus had killed. I could only feel the barrage of dull _thumps _against my body as my shield repelled more shots than I thought it could, feel the growing heat as it spent more and more kinetic energy. The seconds ran by in my head. _Three. Four_. I kept firing. I tried to ignore the fact that it was near impossible for _anyone_, even Garrus, to reload a sniper rifle three times in five seconds while maintaining pinpoint accuracy. Plus there was Harbinger. I tried not to think about that. I failed.

I got to five, and all I heard was silence. Then I got to six. I felt something on my back. A little extra heat, like a concentrated ray of sunlight. It felt rather pleasant. Yet my heart leapt into my throat nonetheless, fortitude slipping as instinct and my legs took over. I started running away from Harbinger's particle beam. It had gotten behind me, and I needed to find cover. There wasn't any. So I just ran like hell. The beam kept pounding, screaming like icy metal as my shields drained.

Suddenly the tingling warmth turned into searing white fire, and I screamed as the particle beam began to tear through my armor. Who knew how long I had? A second? Less? I heard a loud and sharp bark of gunfire from Garrus's position, but the metallic thunder of the particle beam didn't falter. Harbinger wouldn't fall to just one shot. I screamed, the pain too sharp. I tripped on something and started falling. My brain began preparing to die.

Then I saw a weird Picasso death hallucination thing run in front of me, contorted with one arm too long and a mishmash of color on its surface.

A moment later, I heard Jack tear out a wild Amazon scream. She extended her too-long arm -- no, not too long. She just had a shotgun in her hand. She fired a torrent of pure fire from her gun, jumping over my fallen body. I heard her grunt as she put herself between me and the particle beam.

I turned my body around on the floor and found myself surrounded by a blue biotic bubble, Jack at the center of it with arms extended. "Now, Vakarian!" she yelled. Through the wall of the bubble, I could see Harbinger's warped form buck once against the impact of Garrus's sniper round. Then, a moment later, it bucked again, hissed, and dissolved into light.

A second passed, quiet. Jack let the biotic bubble go. Then she turned around and, after a second's hesitation, offered me her hand. "You alright, hero?"

"…back," I mumbled. My back was still searing like a freshly torn wound. She circled around and examined the spot where Harbinger's beam had struck.

"You're lucky. This Collector bastard's a godawful shot. He sprayed particle beam fire all over your back. Had he managed to concentrate it all on one spot, it would have probably burned through your armor, your skin, your organs, and come out the other side."

I took a deep and heavy breath. "Gee, thanks for the comfort, Jack."

"It's what I'm here for."

That was when I heard Garrus bounding toward us, his heavy footsteps striking loud against the ground. "Shepard!" he yelled. "Harbinger flanked you. I don't know how I didn't see him. Damn it, I'm sorry."

I turned around, seeing a look of panic on his face. "Relax, Garrus. I'm fine." The burning on my back was already starting to subside.

"Are you sure?" He grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around. "Your armor looks burnt to a crisp."

Jack said, "It didn't go all the way through the armor. If it had, she'd be screaming right now."

"Still, you're hurt," Garrus stammered, barely waiting for her to finish. "You need a hit of medigel." I heard him activate his omni-tool and opened my mouth to protest.

But before I could say anything, EDI's voice started humming in my ear. "The tower is active, Shepard. Opening fire on the Collector ship."

All three of us looked up. The Alliance defense tower come to life, expelling a torrent of fire into the horizon. Low rumbles escaped the gun as it shot thick, heavy anti-ship missiles at the immobile Collector vessel. I could see the metal buckle and tear as the rounds hit it. Damn, I was impressed. That little Alliance tower packed a punch!

After about twenty seconds of concentrated fire, the Collector ship activated its jets. It let out a massive explosion as it propelled itself into the air, and we had to cover our faces as the blast radius hit us. Dust got into my eyes and nose. I cursed, sneezing and blinking.

"They're pulling out," Garrus said. "They have no reason to stay. Most of the colonists are on board. They got what they came for."

A rush of hot anger hit me, and I just barely stopped myself from punching a nearby crate and breaking my knuckles in the process. "Damn it!"

"No, don't let 'em get away!" I heard running footsteps, and turned to see Delan, the mechanic from the garage, speed past me with his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Damn it, they've got half the colony in there. They took Egan and Sam and… and Lilith! Do something!"

"We did everything we could." I slammed my head into the air and stared at the ground. "Obviously it wasn't enough."

"If it wasn't for Shepard, you'd all be on that ship," Garrus said quickly, his tone low and defensive.

I glared at him. "Save it, Garrus. I don't need excuses. We failed."

There wasn't much to say. It had been an impossible situation. We didn't know enough about the Collectors yet. We hadn't known what to expect, how to prepare. Considering the circumstances, we had done a fantastic job, and I knew that. But _hell _if it was good enough! Freedom's Progress. Ferris Fields. Now Horizon. Another colony gone. That went down as a loss in my book. Erin Shepard: 0-3.

"Wait a minute…" Delan approached slowly, studying me. "Shepard? I know that name. You're some kind of big Alliance hero, aren't you?"

A familiar old voice responded for me. "Commander Erin Shepard. Captain of the Normandy. The first human Spectre. Savior of the Citadel." Kaidan Alenko walked up to us, and I couldn't read a thing from his stoic face. "You're in the presence of a legend, Delan."

Delan glared at him for a long moment, then scoffed. "All the good people we lost, and you get left behind. Screw this. I'm done with you Alliance types."

Kaidan didn't so much as glance at the mechanic as he sauntered away. Instead, the biotic soldier stared at me with distant, silent eyes, the way someone would stare at a movie when the plot starts going off in tangents they don't understand. I saw him shake his head once. Then all the emotion came pouring through. His eyes widened, seemingly brightening and darkening at the same time. His mouth twitched between a grin and a frown. He looked past me, refusing to meet my eyes. He whispered, "I thought you were dead, Commander. We all did."

I hesitated. It had been easy with Garrus, and there had been too much going on in Freedom's Progress to get emotional with Tali. But here I was, and I didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who is looking at you and seeing a ghost?

A ghost they probably never wanted to see again?

I finally settled on, "It's been too long, Kaidan. How have you been?"

"That's all you have to say?" His voice was a mix of anger and… disappointment. I felt a hit of guilt in my chest. "You show up after two years and just act like nothing happened?"

"I know…"

He regarded me with anger. Eyes thinned, voice low. Cold anger, not hot anger. Hot anger is what you feel toward someone you care about when they screw things up. Cold anger is what you feel toward someone you… don't. "I would have followed you _anywhere_, Commander," he said. "Thinking you were gone was like losing a limb. Why didn't you contact me? Why didn't you let me know you were alive?"

I shook my head. "I couldn't. I wasn't. I was lying in a coma for the last two years in a Cerberus medical facility."

"Cerberus…" He nodded slowly to himself. "So the reports were right."

"Reports? You mean you already knew?"

He didn't look at me when he responded. "Alliance intel thought Cerberus might be behind the attacks on the colonies. They got a tip that this colony might be the next one to get hit. Anderson stonewalled me, but there were rumors that you weren't dead. That you were working with them."

I sighed. "Cerberus and I want the same thing, and we're working together to get it. Doesn't mean I'm with them."

"Do you really think that?" he asked. "Or is that just what Cerberus wants you to think?"

Damn it, I didn't want to have a Cerberus debate with Kaidan Alenko! I knew what I was doing, and I knew it was the only choice. I also knew he would never realize that. If I tried to defend my position, it would only make him hate me more. And God knew he had enough reasons to hate me.

I looked away, concentrating my eyes on Jack's leather combat boots. "I don't know what to tell you, Kaidan. Just that you know me. I hope you think well enough of me that you know I'd only do this for the right reasons."

He sighed. "I want to believe you, Shepard. Really, I do. But Cerberus…"

"You saw it yourself! The Collectors are behind the colony attacks, and they're working with the Reapers. The Alliance won't act without more proof, and the Council will turn its back the moment it hears the word _Reaper_. Only Cerberus has the will and the resources to do something about it." It was my turn to sigh. "I want to do what's right, but this… this is too big."

"The greater good argument, Shepard?" He frowned. "I've heard it too many times. How do you know Cerberus isn't working with the Reapers?"

"Gee, maybe because the Reapers want to kill _everything_. Good people and bad people; the racists and the terrorists along with the saints -- _everything_!" I threw my hands into the air. My voice came out sharper and angrier than I had meant it to. "What the hell do you want me to do, Kaidan? Nothing? Let it happen? You can play the alignment game with all these little groups if you want -- Alliance is this, Council is that, Cerberus is bad, _whatever_! I see a hell of a lot of grey. And then I see the Reapers, and that's just black." I scowled, shrugged. "Usually ethical quandaries are hard. But this one looks pretty damned easy to me."

When I calmed down, I saw that he looked hurt. _Damn it_! My anger was at the situation. But he had seen it as directed to him, and I couldn't blame him.

I reached out and touched his hand. "I'm sorry, Kaidan. I'm not mad at you. I'm just… mad."

"It looks pretty easy to me, too," he said, his voice quiet, his eyes still. "This ethical quandary. I know one thing -- Cerberus is danger. If you're with them… then I'm not with you." He looked me in the eyes and gave me a long, somewhat sad stare. "I know where my loyalties lie."

Then he turned away and started walking. I felt like calling after him, trying to make him understand. I wanted to yell at him, reach out and grab him, kill him, hug him, apologize for all the god_damned_ mistakes. I didn't know what I wanted to do.

"A leopard can't change its spots," Kaidan said. "Cerberus can't be trusted." He turned around and gave me one last glance. "Goodbye, Shepard. And be careful."

I guess some things just aren't meant to go together. Oil and fire. Chlorine and acetone. Salt and open wounds. Me and Kaidan.

Some things are best apart.


	9. Alone

"Well, what are you waiting for? Spill."

I raised my head wearily, craning my neck to get a look at the med bay door and see where the interruption had come from. Fatigue and Chakwas's drugs had left me exhausted. I was laying flat on my stomach on one of the med bay beds, and I wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep.

But it wasn't going to happen. Because in came Jack, eyes bright, shotgun still strapped to her back. She sat down on the cot closer to the door and gave me a long, eager look. "Well?"

I blinked. "Well what?"

"That guy on Horizon. Kaidan Alenko, right? Any good?"

I yawned, glanced at the bottle of fast-acting painkillers Doctor Chakwas had left me, and briefly considered taking one. Or two. The pain in my back was subsiding, but I wanted Jack gone, and I needed an excuse to send her away. "Can we talk later, Jack?" I grabbed the bottle. "I'm in a lot of pain."

She glanced briefly at my injured back. "Bullshit. First degree burns is all you've got, and you're a big girl. You've had worse. Now I want to hear about this Alenko."

"What about him?" I groaned.

Jack laughed, and it was a wiry, scornful sound. "What the hell do you think, hero? I wanna know how good he was. In the sack."

My cheeks quickly caught fire, and I buried my head in the white sheets. Now was not the time. I was too tired and drugged up for this. "You got the wrong impression, Jack. Kaidan and I never… any of that."

She made a _tsk _sound. "Gay, huh?"

"What? No! At least… I don't think so."

Jack was silent, as if waiting for me to say more. When I didn't, she said, "Well then why the hell didn't you fuck him?"

A fresh wave of fatigue battered my head, and I felt my eyelids sinking. "Gee, I don't know," I said with closed eyes. "Maybe because I didn't know him well enough? Maybe because I didn't feel like we were anything more than friends, or--"

"Seriously, hero? Come on. He's scorching hot. You're scorching hot. Two scorching hot people don't stay just friends."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Jack. But I don't think that way."

"How sad." She reached across the gap between our beds and grabbed my bottle of painkillers, giving the label a weary look. "Malodyne opoid. Weak as shit. Doesn't even give you a buzz." She tossed it back. "So what did you do? Or more specifically, _who _did you do? How'd you blow off the steam of that mission, as it were?"

I buried my head back into the covers. My voice came out muffled. "God damn it, Jack. Leave me alone. This isn't any of your business!"

"Oh, shit! You didn't blow it off at all, did you?" She cackled loudly, her voice loud and mocking. "The great Shepard, a prude. Incredible. You went sexless through an entire deep space mission just because of your own high standards. What, do you need to be in _love _before you feel ready to hit it?" She gasped. "Are you a _virgin_?"

"_Enough_!" I roared, glaring at her. "No, no, and no. No to all three questions. Happy? Now let the injured soldier sleep."

She chuckled. "Damn. You're a weird one, hero."

She got up to leave, and I thanked my lucky stars as I listened to her footsteps drift away. I stretched my limbs, yawned, and shut my eyes. I could feel sleep just on the periphery. But Jack stopped just short of the door and said, "I get it. Nothing wrong with being alone."

Believe me, I wanted to let her go. I wanted nothing more than to let her go and let heavy sleep take me. But damn it, I just couldn't allow the conversation to end that way! Jack refused -- absolutely refused -- to even _consider _the possibility of trusting someone. The idea of having a friend, a person to depend on, was completely alien to her. I had to help her understand. I owed it to her. With a soft curse, I said, "Jack, wait."

She drifted back to the empty cot and sat down with a springy _bump_. "What, hero?"

"I was not alone."

Jack's head tilted. She watched me for a long time with the thinned eyes of distant skepticism. Eventually she pressed her hands against her lips and said, "Dare I ask what you mean?"

"I wasn't, well, _hitting_ anyone, as you would say. But that didn't mean I was alone." With some effort, I straightened myself, sitting upright on the bed. "I had friends. Good people I could count on and trust. And honestly, I don't think I would have made it without them."

She had already started rolling her eyes before I even finished. "Ugh. Somehow I knew this crap was coming. Now you're going to tell me about the power of friendship and shoot a bunch of pretty flowers out your ass, right?"

"No. I'm just going to tell you that going it alone is tough. I know you're a powerful biotic -- I'm a pretty damn good sniper myself. And believe me, I am _not_ one of those people who looks for an open shoulder to whine on at every opportunity. God, I hate that crap. But without people like Ashley and Tali and Garrus at my side, I wouldn't have been able to take on Saren. Not physically able, and certainly not mentally." My eyes and hers locked. "I'm just saying it helps sometimes."

Jack's posture changed subtly with my words. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, bringing her eyes closer. "Vakarian, huh? You two are friends?"

"Absolutely. I don't trust anyone like I trust Garrus."

"So did you bang him?"

And that was the first time Jack ever succeeded at making me lose my words.

I stared at her, shocked and dumbfounded, my mind slowly trying to wrap itself around what she'd just said. I tried to come up with a response. All I got was fuzzy mental static. Garrus? Damn, I couldn't think. _Garrus_? Me and… such an idea felt utterly insane.

I stuttered out a response. "I… n… wh…"

She grinned, a devious spark of understanding flashing through her eyes. "Shit. You've never even considered it, have you?"

I'd be lying if I said Garrus and I weren't close. I'd be lying if I said I didn't love spending time with him, said I didn't trust him with my life. I'd be lying if I said I'd ever had a better friend. If he were human, I probably would already have exactly the kind of information Jack would want to know about him. And physically, well, I had always found turians fiercely attractive in their own weird way. Especially Garrus, with his gravelly voice and silver-iron skin. I had wanted to make a joke about him being ugly anyway when I first saw his scars, but hell, it would have been a lie.

I guess the idea of me and Garrus wasn't… wasn't as insane as I might have thought.

But still. One does not simply walk into Mordor, as it were. Even in a perfect world, where Garrus wasn't a turian and I wasn't Erin Shepard and we weren't on a secret Cerberus vessel chasing after the most glorious suicide in galactic history, I couldn't just walk up to him and rip his clothes off. Well, maybe Jack would. But I wasn't like Jack at all, and neither was he. There were so many other considerations… our friendship, the crew, the mission. Hell, the idea _was _as insane as I might have thought.

"Out of the question," I said to Jack. "It's a terrible idea, and you know it."

Jack's lips tightened. "You like him?"

I nodded.

"So what the hell, hero? Grab the dumbass, throw him against a wall, and claw off his armor. I think you know what to do after that. You certainly wouldn't be the first human-turian pairing of all time, if that's what you're worried about. Give me five seconds on the extranet and I can--"

"Okay, stop! And it's more complicated than that, Jack." I sighed. "Look, Garrus and I are close. But that… is not what I need right now. Not what he needs either. We've got too much on our plates as is."

Jack scoffed. "Whatever, hero. Be _close _all you goddamn want, and keep enjoying your cold, lonely bed. I'm just making you aware."

I knew I would probably regret it, but I asked anyway. "Aware of what?"

"The raptor is gaga about you," she said. "I can't believe you don't see it. Pining. Head over heels, as lamer people might say. All you have to do is suggest it, and he'll jump on you without a second's pause." She rolled her eyes, shook her head derisively, and pulled herself to her feet. "Just thought you should know the option's open."

This time, when she left, I didn't say a word to stop her.

I lay back down on my stomach. I was still tired. The fatigue and the drugs were still blanketing my head with their thick, drowsy fog. But hell if I was going to fall asleep now. A war was being waged in my mind, between the aching fatigue and the rushing thoughts keeping me awake.

And the thoughts were coming out ahead.


	10. Sacrifice

TO: Shepard, Erin

FROM: Williams, Abby

.

_Commander Shepard,_

_I finished basic today. Arcturus is a bitch, and coming in as enlisted instead of officer is not the way I always pictured it in my head. But it's a trial we all have to go through, I guess. And I can't say I haven't come out of it for the better. I'm stronger, faster, smarter, and a way better shot. You may now address me as Private Abigail Williams, Systems Alliance Marine. Muahaha._

_Alright, so you've never even met me, and I'm probably scaring you a little by now. For that, I apologize. I don't know you, and I don't know your sense of humor. But Ashley always held you in the highest regard. So I guess I feel comfortable being my own weird self around you. Apologies in advance._

_Admiral Anderson gave me this email address. Two years ago, they were all saying you'd died, but I never believed it! Mere mortals cannot fell Commander Shepard. I knew your death was just a cover up. I bet they sent you on some top-secret mission, right? Anderson wouldn't tell me. Hell, you've probably already destroyed the geth by now. We haven't seen any more from them since you saved the Citadel. Did they have any more of those big Sovereign ships? Did you steal any awesome technology? Oh, hey, is it true that the geth unlocked the secret to converting energy into matter, thus giving us those awesome replicator things that science fiction promised us we'd have by now? I eagerly await the press conference._

_Okay, serious face now. There's a reason I decided to contact you. It's about my sister's death. The media doesn't like to talk about it -- to them, you're a fallen hero to be worshipped, incapable of human error. They don't like to bring up the fact that you lost one of your team on Virmire. I had wanted to talk to you sooner, but the Alliance sent you straight into geth space after the battle at the Citadel. Then you disappeared. I didn't think I'd ever get the opportunity to say what I wanted to say. Now I do, and I don't want to wait around any more.  
_

_Anderson told me how hard you took it when Ashley died. He said you blamed yourself for it, that it drove you like a bullet to take down Saren. I guess I can understand. I'm still new at this whole soldier thing, but if I were to lose someone under my command… I don't know how I'd react. It's not something I really want to think about. I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself, especially if it were someone I was as close to as you were with Ashley._

_And you know what the hardest thing would be? Facing the family._

_I guess you got lucky in some ways. You had already been shipped out to clean up the remnant geth by the time her funeral was held. You never had to face Ashley's family, to look her mother in the eye and try to explain what happened. I don't know. Maybe you're stronger than me. But if I were in that position, my God… I don't think I'd be able to do it. Few things could be as difficult as meeting the family of the soldier you lost under your command.  
_

_Though in some ways, you were unlucky too. Anderson talked about you at the funeral. He talked about your friendship with her, told us how badly you had wanted to be there. Because Ashley was more than just a fallen soldier to you, wasn't she? At the core of things, she was a friend. And despite all the pain and guilt it would have brought, I bet you still wish you could have been there. I bet you wish you could have spoken at the podium, and I bet you wish you could have talked to her family. That sort of stuff helps you let go. I know it would have been all but impossible for me to get over it had I not been given the opportunity to say my piece at the funeral. Being there, staring at a closed casket with her name on it and knowing she wasn't even inside it__… that was hard. But not being there to say goodbye would have been harder.  
_

_Hell, I don't even know if I'm making sense. I guess I might as well say it outright. If it were me, if I were the one who had lost a friend under my command, I know I wouldn't be able to get over it until I heard it from the horse's mouth. So here goes: I don't blame you for my sister's death. None of us do. Mom, Lynn, Sarah, all of us. We forgive you. No, scratch that. We don't forgive you, because we never blamed you. Ash's death was not your fault. Had you been at the funeral, we would have been quick to tell you._

_ Shepard, the Williams family knows you were the best commander Ashley could have possibly had the good fortune to serve under. We know how much you cared for her, and we also know how huge your mission was. The chain of command exists so that the hard decisions can get made, and you know what? You made the right one. Everyone knew you were a great soldier, but you proved that you were a great commander that day. You were strong enough to make the call. Had you let your emotions get in the way, that facility might not have gotten destroyed. Ash would have died. You all would have. And it would have been for nothing._

_Yes, I read the mission report. Do I wish it hadn't been her? Of course I do. Do I wish, sometimes, that you would have gone back to save her, and left that other soldier, Lieutenant Alenko, behind? Yeah. It sounds awful, but yeah, I do. Of course. It's human nature. I loved Ashley, and I don't know a thing about this Alenko. Had you sacrificed the mission to save her, she might still be alive. But we both know she'd be miserable about it. She was willing to do what she had to, and she would have blamed herself hard if you had let the mission fail on her part. You made the choice, you went after the nuke, and you succeeded. You stopped Saren. And Ash died a fucking hero._

_I don't pray as often as I should anymore. But when I do, I talk to her. Sometimes I think I can feel her talking back. She always said you weren't very religious, so you might think I'm crazy. Maybe I am. But how else can I explain it? I think about Ashley and I get this rush of energy, raw strength and power and passion. It's wonderful and invigorating. She's there, I know it. And she's at peace. She knows you made the right choice, Shepard, and she doesn't regret a goddamned thing. She did exactly what she wanted to do._

_The Williams name has been cleared now. I wasn't going to enlist at all after watching the Alliance screw over my sister with crap assignment after crap assignment. Now, they're happy to take me, and I'm happy to serve. It feels a bit weird, like I should be holding a grudge against them for blacklisting my family all these years. Yet I can't help feeling anything but at home here. Everyone is as friendly as can be, and they've shown me nothing but respect. Basic training was tough, but… this feels right, you know? It feels like it's where I belong.  
_

_If there's one thing wrong, it's that I don't know how I can live up to Ashley's example. In death, she's been given all the medals and accolades she deserved in life, and then some. She's a hero. Me, I'm just a private with a weird streak and some above average accuracy test scores. I scored top of my class in long-range shooting, though. Who knows? Maybe I'll become a sniper, like you. Ashley would call me a little pussy who didn't have the guts to get up close and personal with the enemy, but I'll do what I'm good at, right?_

_I just thought you should hear from me, Shepard. I know I would have wanted to. And if it turns out that this is the wrong e-mail address and you've just read the strangest, most confusing message you've ever recieved, then I apologize again. No, Erin Shepard is not still alive. There is no cover-up, and there is certainly no top secret mission to destroy the geth. Forget everything you have just read. *Flash*_

_Sincerely,_

_Abby Williams, Systems Alliance_


	11. The Line

_Clang. Clang. _Metal hitting metal.

Huh? That wasn't right. Where the hell was that coming from?

_Clang. Clang. Clang._

I slumped lower behind my makeshift cover, bracing myself against the biting lashes of heat. The fire hissed and roared and popped, screaming like a banshee as it displaced cool air loudly enough to leave my ears ringing. But that peculiar little sound didn't stop. _Clang. Clang. Clang. _What _was_ that, damn it?

Waves of dry heat battered me, forcing me to squint my eyes as I scanned the facility for the source of the sound. The Blue Suns had long since stopped shooting, so I peered out at the battlefield. But all I could see was a red wall of fire. If it wasn't coming from in front of me…

_Clang. Clang. CRACK._

My head shot over on instinct, honing in on the source of the sound. My stomach dropped.

Zaeed Massani had just used his gun to split open the steam valve.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled over the fire.

He didn't answer. He hit it one last time, and something inside popped. I could hear it loud, the metal hesitating for a second under the force. Then the gas line ruptured. The facility was rocked by a fresh explosion, sound and heat and force hitting me like a combination firestorm-hurricane-tornado. Beside me, Garrus lost his grip on the ground and got slammed into a nearby column, but he didn't catch the worst of it. The unlucky ones were the Blue Suns on the walkway above us, who took a dragon's breath of fire to the face. The metal groaned and buckled, slapped about by multiple after-explosions. I heard a few screams. One merc got thrown off the walkway and landed in front of us with a _thud_, his body limp.

Zaeed grinned at me, self-satisfied. "Opening the gate."

I felt a sudden rush of anger, heating the blood in my veins to temperatures you'd need to use the Kelvin scale to measure. I started grinding my teeth. Zaeed looked so calm, so _proud_, like he'd pulled off some brilliant battlefield maneuver! But that ruptured gas line had set the entire refinery on fire, and the workers we had come here to save were now trapped. And whose goddamn fault was it? Mine. For ever expecting anything different from Zaeed Massani.

"What did I tell you, on day one?" I screamed, moving toward him in tight, heavy steps. "You do what I say! You follow _my _orders! This is insane, Zaeed. There has to be a better way to get past this gate."

Zaeed's voice roared as he spoke. "Like what? Wandering around in the jungle for hours looking for another way in? You want to waste time out here, go ahead. I'm killing Vido."

Just like that. Not even a moment's regard for the lives he was scratching off the chart. The anger intensified, swift and hot, and I tried grinding my teeth harder to keep it under control. But something in his eyes made me lose it. He blinked, a flicker of apathy crossing his face, like my voice was just some stupid little distraction. And so I punched him.

Zaeed had thirty kilos of muscle and heavy armer over me, at the very least. But it didn't matter. He'd just been standing there, out of position, his body not braced for impact. He had no leverage to counter with. Technically I didn't even have to punch him as hard as I did -- but hey, it felt freakin' great. My fist hit his chin with an almost cartoonishly loud pop, and Zaeed literally flew.

His head swung back. His body followed the momentum. He lost his balance completely, and he swayed his arms in the air a few times in an attempt to regain it before falling flat on his ass. _Hell _yes! I glanced over to Garrus, just to make sure he'd seen it. Garrus was always telling me that I just didn't have enough raw strength in my little human female body to take on a turian in hand-to-hand. Zaeed was no turian, but he was just as tough.

Garrus was still on the ground, but he looked like he wasn't injured. He gave me a grin and an awkward, talon-handed thumbs up. I dearly appreciated the effort.

Then I turned back to Zaeed, fully expecting the mercenary to be on his feet, fists drawn, ready to fight back.

But Zaeed wasn't even looking at me. He was staring at wall of fire in front of us. "Let these people burn," he said, voice low. "Vido dies. Today. Whatever the cost." He started walking toward the fire, his eyes fixed with that glossed-over look of determination that people get when nothing else matters. I had a feeling that if I were to punch him again, he would just get back up and keep walking.

Before I could protest, a pair of Blue Suns mercenaries appeared on the other side of the fire wall. Zaeed grunted. He raised his rifle and shot _through _the fire, keeping his finger tight over the trigger until he heard a scream. Then he re-aimed and shot in the direction of the second Blue Sun. Garrus joined me behind Zaeed, and the two of us watched in silent amazement as the big mercenary walked, step by heavy step, straight past the wall of fire. His kinetic shield shone blue and formed a protective bubble around him, spreading away the scorching sea of fire like Moses and the Red Sea.

"What is he doing?" Garrus asked once he had gotten to the other side.

"Getting revenge," I said. "Zaeed lied to us. He isn't here because of a job. He's here to kill Vido Santiago, and he's willing to let these people die to do it."

Garrus nodded. "Ah."

I heard more voices on the other side of the fire, but they were quickly cut out by the sound of automatic gunfire. I couldn't see much past the fire. But I could hear Zaeed's stoic grunts, and I could certainly hear the mercenaries screaming as they died.

Garrus looked at me, pensive. "What are we going to do about it?"

"Stop him."

He looked surprised at that answer. "Stop him? Shepard, we've got an opportunity to kill the leader of the Blue Suns! Do you realize what a coup that would be? I've seen it a million times: these mercenary groups never recover from losing their leader. They collapse into little factions and slaughter each other."

I shook my head. "Can't do it, Garrus. People to save."

"This whole facility is falling apart, Erin! If you go in there and try to save them, you'll just die with them."

Zaeed had gotten pretty far ahead at this point, but I could still hear him, his grunts and gunshots echoing as he slaughtered his way toward Vido Santiago. And _goddamn_ it all, it would be so easy to go with him. Santiago was a monster. No need for euphemisms. That man was a murderer and a criminal, one of the most dangerous in the galaxy. And Garrus was right: killing him would be a blow from which the Blue Suns would never recover. Here he was, caught like a mouse in a trap, his honor guard getting torn apart by the man he had betrayed twenty years ago. Oh, how poetic. No escape for Vido, not if we played our cards right. If we pushed after him now, Vido Santiago was as good as dead. The Blue Suns would fall apart. Zaeed would be happy, justice would be served, and thousands would be saved from the wake of pain and misery spread by the Blue Suns. I could do it. I could go after Vido, and _nobody_ could tell me I was wrong.

If I stopped Zaeed and went after the workers, chances were we'd get killed by the explosion. Well, chances were Zaeed would just kill _me _and keep going after Vido. But even if he didn't, I'd be putting myself and my team in incredible danger to save a half dozen refinery workers for whom it was probably already too late, meanwhile letting the leader of the single most dangerous mercenary cabal in the galaxy slip through my fingers.

A fresh explosion rocked the walls, and the fire sprayed a new wave of heat. I tensed. Clock was ticking. _Tick tock. _A decision awaited. And the answer was so obvious that I didn't even have to think.

"Let's go, Garrus. We have to get Zaeed under control and do it fast. Those workers are running out of time."

It was obvious that my worldview had been changing in recent months. Maybe it was my death. Maybe it was just because I was growing older, seeing more and more of the same BS all across the galaxy. I was getting jaded. I had slowly begun losing faith in the basic goodness of people, slowly turning my back on my old idealism. I'd come to realize that evil was real. There were people who were monsters, would never change and didn't deserve a chance to. Everything is shades of grey, but damn it, dark grey looks close enough to black from where I'm standing. I guess you could say I wasn't the same pure white paragon Shepard I'd seen in the mirror two years ago.

But I wasn't a fallen angel yet. The line had shifted back, but it was still there, deep as ever in the sand. And this… this was crossing it. Just because I wasn't a paragon anymore did _not _mean I could leave innocent people to die. The day I do that, I'm not Shepard anymore.

I really hope some geth colossus finishes me before that day comes.

A few seconds passed, and I could sense Garrus's eyes on me. Garrus was like me. No paragon, but he hadn't become the opposite just yet. Maybe he was farther down that path than me, but he had his lines too. I saw him nod. There was approval in that little gesture.

"You know Zaeed won't ever forgive you for this, right?"

I shrugged. "I don't need his approval."

Farther down the building, a fresh spray of gunfire echoed, followed by the screams of more dying men. "Come on," I said. "We have a raging beast to calm."

* * *

_We all have our own lines. I won't judge you for yours. But if you want to keep your identity, keep your faith, your sanity, your soul, any form of inner consistency_…_ do yourself a favor. _

_Don't ever cross the line._


	12. Udina

_**A/N**: Two weeks. God, I suck, huh? The muse left me, then came back and forced me to write a weirdass original fiction piece that will hopefully never see the light of day. But I WILL finish Paragade, whether my head likes it or not._

* * *

From the embassy, David Anderson was seeing a ghost. I knew it. I could see it in his eyes. Even ten meters away and through the glass of the embassy door, I could see the white rims and red veins of his eyes, widened to their breaking point. He stood completely still as we approached. We got closer, and I saw hints of a smile break across his face.

I stopped at the embassy door and turned to Garrus at my side. The turian nodded. His dark eyes glinted, and his left mandible stirred just a little.

Then I looked at Tali. Sixteen hours ago, we had rescued her from Haestrom. She'd been certain she was going to die. I knew that feeling well. But now we were back on the Citadel, and these glossy embassy halls felt like a warm home by comparison. Tali's eyes brightened, the way they only did when the quarian was smiling.

My eyes went back to the door, and I could see Anderson grinning at me. It was a nice little moment, like a second ripped straight out of time. Briefly I was back to two years ago, with Garrus and Tali and Anderson at my side, before things fell apart. Back when it was bad, as opposed to worse. It felt like home.

I stepped forward, and the embassy door opened. There was very little I could do to avoid the strong and powerful bear-hug that Anderson decided to cast on me.

"_Admiral_," I said, throwing my arms around him in return. "Goddamn, it's good to see you again."

After a little while, he let go, and took a step back to study me. "Shepard… unbelievable." He grinned a wide and heavy grin. "I heard you were alive, but I couldn't… not until I actually saw you with my own eyes. I couldn't be sure."

"Well, now you can." I laughed. "Unless I'm a geth imposter sent to assassinate you, of course."

"I'd almost find that more plausible. How the hell--"

I shrugged. "I don't even understand it that well myself. Tissue grafts, organ replacements, cybernetics, weird crap like that. Surgical procedures I seriously doubt are approved by the Alliance HHS Department."

Anderson chuckled, shaking his head softly. "I'm probably better off not knowing." His eyes broke away, and he walked over to the embassy balcony. I followed him. The Presidium really is damn beautiful, no matter who you are or how bad your life is. You can't help but appreciate it. "So… Cerberus?"

I shut my eyes and held back a groan. _Damn _it! Was I really going to have to have this conversation with _everyone _I revisited? "Alliance intel is really on the ball on this one," I said, trying to evade the topic. "You know. Alenko knows. I'm impressed."

"It was only a theory until we got Alenko's mission report. We're keeping it highly classified. Less than a dozen people are aware."

I sighed. "Anderson, I don't know what to--"

"Save it," he said, but his tone wasn't harsh. "You don't have to explain it to me. Some years ago, I had to work with _Saren _to stop a group of batarian terrorists. I'm the first person to tell you that doing what's right isn't always pretty."

Well, I could be thankful for that, at least. Anderson still understood. I had such few people left that I could trust. Thank God I still had him. "Thanks for understanding, Anderson."

"Of course, Shepard. I know you wouldn't do it unless it was for the right reasons." He turned around to face my two companions, who had been silent until now. "And you brought nar Rayya and Vakarian! Good to see you both."

Tali stepped forward. "Actually it's _vas Neema_ nar Rayya now. My pilgrimage is over, and I am a full member of the Fleet." She'd let a hint of pride slip into her words.

Anderson beamed. "Well hell. Congratulations!"

The two of them walked over to exchange pleasantries, but my eyes caught on Garrus, who hadn't even looked up when Anderson called him. The turian was staring at his wrist, an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes had darkened. His mandibles shifted steadily, up and down.

I walked up to him. "Garrus? You alright?"

He took a second or two to respond. "Uh… yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He looked up. "I have to go, Erin. Something's come up."

"What is it? Maybe I can help."

Garrus frowned. "Maybe. Can I talk to you back on the Normandy?"

"Um… sure." I could tell something was wrong, but clearly he didn't want to tell me about it. And now wasn't the time to press it. He turned to leave. I expected him to say something, but he didn't. That only added to my concern.

"See you in a bit," I called. He responded with a wave of his hand.

Damn it. Something really _was _wrong.

Once he was gone, I turned back to Anderson and Tali, who had assembled near the balcony. I approached them. "Garrus had to go, but I have to ask. What's the story with Udina?"

"That man is impossible," Anderson said at once. "They promoted me to admiral, but they stuck me behind a desk as a _Special Advisor to the Councilor_ anyway. And Udina doesn't listen to a word I say. All he cares about is running public relations with the rest of the Council. He doesn't want to deal with the real issues."

"Like the Reapers," I said.

He nodded. "Yeah. Like the Reapers."

"I saw what he said. About the Reapers being a myth. I also read about how you've been trying to convince people that he's wrong."

"People are happy to believe that the Reapers are just a big myth, and he and the Council are happy to let them." Anderson sighed, weariness in his breath. He leaned against the balcony railing and dropped his eyes to follow the stream of water that stretched across the Presidium below him. "It's all a big plate of BS, Shepard. The Council wants people to feel safe and complacent, so they go on pretending like everything is fine. They're doing _nothing_ to prepare for the Reapers, and every time I try to warn them, they look at me like I'm some lunatic. There's no getting through to these people."

I shrugged. "Did you expect anything else from the Council?"

"Guess not," he said, more breathing out the words than actually saying them.

There was a short silence, but it felt abnormally long. Finally I turned and stared at him. "Hell, Anderson. You should be councilor right now, not Udina. I don't know what I was thinking when I backed him. I'm sorry."

"Oh, I don't think I have the stomach to wade through the political bullshit in this place, Shepard," he said, a smile on his face that was just a little bitter. "Besides, we've got you. As long as you're still standing, I know the Reapers don't stand a chance."

"You put a lot of faith in one little sniper," I said, fighting back a grin. I try my best, but modesty isn't a virtue I've been blessed with. And it felt good to hear him say that.

But Anderson shook his head. He stared at me with tired brown eyes, eyes that had seen far too much, eyes that were wise and solid and strong. There was authority in his rock-hard stare, a powerful sense of confidence. It was the kind of look you could only pull off if you really and truly believed in something, with every fiber of your being. It was the look that actors and politicians the stars over try and fail to fake. I met his eyes. I knew he was right. About everything.

"Believe me, Shepard. I call them like I see them. If anyone in this galaxy has a chance of stopping those machines, it's you."

I hesitated before answering. There were such few people nowadays I could turn to, such a tiny handful I could depend on to reassure me that I was doing the right thing. Forget Cerberus. There were times I wasn't sure we had a chance to survive at all, Cerberus behind us or not. The crew on board the Normandy liked to throw around that phrase, _suicide _mission, every way they turned, skillfully joking their way around the harsh reality. They -- _we_ -- were heading toward our own deaths, flinging ourselves against an enemy we might not even have a chance again. Something Garrus said once started whispering in my head at that moment, about how much easier it was last time. There was nobody telling us how hopeless we were on the SR1. None of us doubted, not for a second, that we were going to succeed against Saren. And that really did make things easier. They say ignorance is bliss… they're wrong. It's bloody orgasmic delirium.

But we knew more now, so much more about the threat that faced us. The Reapers. Monolithic, numberless, and unfalteringly determined to shred us apart. Some formula encoded in their programming had come to the calculation that organics needed to die. Some number had told them that we were a plague. They wouldn't stop. Not until the infection was cleansed, every single one of us. Like energy, like gravity and momentum, they were a limitless force, unfaltering, inexorable, and completely immovable. It was hard, nigh _impossible_, to even comprehend how powerful they were. It was even harder to imagine that we could beat them.

So few of us did. So few of us believed we had a chance.

Anderson believed. Maybe more than anyone on the Normandy, Anderson believed in us. In me. It was like a single interstellar dust grain passing through Jupiter's gravity well and not just not getting caught, but moving the planet itself. Every calculation you could do, every simulation you could run, would tell you that it couldn't be done.

But here was Anderson, telling me that it could.

Don't ever underestimate the power of faith. Sometimes it can do freaking incredible stuff. Sometimes it can defy science itself, do the impossible, lift a giant ethereal middle finger to the universe and break its most unbreakable laws. Anderson's confidence at that moment meant more to me than all the rational denial in the world. Like a rock, it solidified me, an IV of steel into my veins. I felt confident. I felt safe. I knew what I had to do, and despite the impossibility of it all, I knew I could do it.

I was about to let him know how much his faith meant to me. But our reunion got cut short at that moment, because his computer buzzed and three shapes materialized at the end of the room.

There was an asari, dressed in flowing, lustrous metallic robes, her face void-blank. A turian standing straight and rigid, his demeanor militaristic, his eyes cold. And a salarian, his body slumped with age and his darkened face hidden behind a hood. All three of them were mildly translucent, painted in ghostly blue light.

Ah, yes. The Citadel Council comes a-knocking.

The asari, who always seemed to act as the mouth of the Council, spoke first. "Admiral Anderson? We were hoping to speak to Councilor Udina and get started on the proceedings on Erin Shepard's status."

"Really, now?" I stepped forward, putting myself in the sight-line of the three councilors. "Weird how I wasn't informed at all about these proceedings concerning my status, huh? I guess my invitation must have gotten lost In the extranet."

Anderson let out another sigh. "Shepard…"

"No, no, it's fine." I paused for a second, wondering if it was a bad idea to act like a royal bitch to the three most powerful people in the galaxy. It probably was, yeah. But it was worth it.

"Commander Shepard," said the asari councilor, a flash of surprise registering on her stone-cold face for less than a second. "We had heard that you were alive, but we didn't expect you to be present at--"

"I wanted to tell you before the meeting started, Shepard." Anderson stepped forward and stood beside me, facing the council. "The Council is re-assessing your Spectre status, and I thought you deserved to be here for it. That's why I called you."

I shook my head. "Great. This Council turned its back on me, and now you're holding secret little meetings to determine my status. I don't like being out of the loop, especially not when the loop is about _me_."

The salarian councilor spoke up. "You were reported dead, commander. Then we heard rumors that you were working with Cerberus. Frankly, we weren't sure which news was worse."

God _damn _it! Everywhere I went, I was going to have to go through the _same_ Cerberus argument. I was tired of it. "The Council isn't doing anything about the Reapers," I growled, my voice loud. "Cerberus is the only group willing to give me the resources I need to fight them." I knew the Council wouldn't understand, but hell if I cared what they thought.

That was when the turian councilor, my bestest friend of all, said his piece. "Ah, yes, _Reapers_," he scoffed. "The immortal race of sentient starships allegedly waiting in dark space. We have dismissed that claim."

Hell, these people were thick. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, they were going to go to their graves believing that Sovereign was a geth ship. The geth were smart, but they couldn't build a craft like that. It'd be like Neanderthals programming a VI.

All they wanted was a story to tell, a promise of political cover. Deny, deny, deny. The time-tested solution to a crisis. They'd denied it so much that they actually believed it was a lie now.

"The Illusive Man warned me about this," I spat. "He said you were all too stupid and scared to believe the truth. Looks like he was right."

The asari councilor, diplomatic as always, said with a calm and collected voice, "We are in a difficult position, Shepard. You are working with Cerberus, an avowed enemy of the Council. This is treason. A capital offense."

A pang of worry hit me. They wouldn't… the Council wouldn't seriously consider _arresting_ me right here on the Citadel, would they? Not even _they _were that…

"We are, however, prepared to make a compromise," continued the asari. "Not a public acknowledgment, given your ties, but something to show peripheral support."

The salarian councilor said, "If you keep a low profile and restrict yourself to the Terminus Systems, this Council is willing to offer you reinstatement as a Spectre."

When I landed at the Citadel, I hadn't expected to see _these _old friends again. It was a rather unpleasant surprise. But, I figured, we would all be better off if I just rolled with it. The Council would be happy, Anderson would avoid political fallout, and I'd get my Spectre status back. No official support, but I hadn't expected any. This was better than nothing. I calmed myself and faced the Council, my face revealing none of the bitterness I was feeling.

"Thank you," I said. "I accept your offer."

The asari councilor nodded. "It is done. Good luck on your investigation, Shepard. We hope for a quick resolution, and a quick end to your relationship with Cerberus."

And without another word, the Council was gone.

"Well. That went better than I had expected." Anderson walked off, staring out the balcony. "You realize this offer is just symbolic, right? They aren't actually going to do anything to support you. Not money, not resources, not intelligence -- you're politically toxic. They don't want anything to do with you."

"Doesn't matter," I said quickly. "They didn't give me too much help against Saren, either. If anything, they just got in my way."

Anderson chuckled, then dragged his feet back to his desk. "Don't worry about the Council or the Alliance, Shepard. I'll find some way to keep them off your back."

I beamed at that. Thank God for Anderson. Last thing I needed was a Council cruiser showing up to arrest us just as the Normandy got ready to go through the Omega-4 relay.

His attention had shifted back to the screen. "Shouldn't be too hard as long as you keep to the--"

When Udina walked into the embassy, it was like a fifty ton boulder shattering the water's surface. He entered already in mid-sentence, his voice rushed and jarring. "Anderson, we need to talk about this Council meeting. All these Shepard rumors have got the press in a…"

Earlier, David Anderson had seen a ghost. Now Donnell Udina was seeing a zombie. He stopped dead in his tracks, regarded me with blank-faced terror for a second, his eyes popping like he was watching his world shatter. These last two years, this man had crafted an invisible web of power and information, favors and leverage, with himself at the center. And it all relied on me being gone. I was the reason he was sitting on the Council in the first place -- but I was also the one who could undo it all. I was the last person he ever wanted to see. And he mine.

Udina recovered his composure quickly, expunging the shock from his face. "Shepard," he said, almost sounding out of breath. "What are you doing here."

I gave him a look that was a solid zero on the pH scale. "I was making a list of people I didn't want to see. You're number one."

"The feeling is mutual," he grunted, stalking toward me. "Your return has been a bureaucratic nightmare for us."

"Well, I'm _sorry _my being alive is so fucking _inconvenient _to--"

"--I invited Shepard to speak with the Council," Anderson said. He had risen to his feet and, along with Tali, was flanking me now, staring back at the human councilor. "We just finished our meeting. It went well."

Udina blinked, and there was a flash of red-faced fury across his face. "You spoke to the Council behind my _back_?" he shouted, pointing a daggerlike finger at us. "Do the words political _shit_ storm mean anything to you?"

I smiled, reeling in his fury. The little bastard deserved every moment of it. "I didn't just meet with the council," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "I got them to reinstate my Spectre status. I get to crusade around the Terminus Systems with a Cerberus patch on my shoulder and it's all _legal_. I get to kick Collector butt too. What do you think of that, Udina?"

His eyes thinned, and his tongue waved as he roared. "Are you insane, Shepard? Are you _trying _to start an interstellar war?"

"I'm_ trying _to stop the biggest threat to sentient life this galaxy has ever seen!" I roared back, my own face reddening as I yelled. "And frankly, I don't have time to waste on your power plays and BS, Udina."

The man looked past me, viper eyes staring at Anderson. "This is your fault, David! This is all on you. You're done here, understand? Finished."

My features twisted at that, and before I knew what I was doing I was up in Udina's face, shoving my nose at his. "Shut your mouth. Don't you dare attack Anderson for this, you son of a bitch. He's a hero, and he's worth a hell of a lot more to this galaxy than you."

"Shepard, don't…" Anderson tried to stop me.

But I'd already gotten myself started unleashing my fury on Donnell Udina, and little could stop me now. "Anderson saved this galaxy, Udina. What the hell did you do for it? Ignore my warnings, over and over again?"

"Shepard, this is--"

"--do you realize, _Councilor_, that if Anderson hadn't helped me bypass the Normandy's lockdown order two years ago, Sovereign would have decimated the Citadel? You almost destroyed galactic civilization, you know." I paused for a hot breath. "Let me put it in a way you'll actually care about. You were on the Citadel. Sovereign would have killed _you_."

"Enough!" Udina raised his hands in the air, glaring at me. "I will not be insulted within my own embassy. If you have nothing else to say… then get out."

I turned around and stared at Anderson, who had a stern look on his face. _Not worth it_, he said to me with his eyes. _Let it be. Don't get yourself in trouble._

And I knew he was right.

I took a calming breath that did a lot to sate my anger. Then I nodded at Anderson. "Good seeing you, Admiral. Tali, I think we should get going."

Tali nodded. "I agree."

One of these days, Udina would get the full force of my anger. I couldn't say when. Maybe once this was all over… if we managed to survive. When the Reapers did come, people would realize how wrong he and the Council were. Politically, they wouldn't survive it, even if the galaxy somehow managed to. There would come a day when Donnell Udina was no longer a Citadel Councilor, or an ambassador, or anything at all save for a disgraced old man. And when that day came… I'd make it known what I thought of him.

As Tali and I walked past him, I couldn't resist. "I want to be here," I said, my voice menacingly low. "I want to be on the Citadel the day the Reapers come. I want to be at the window with you, Udina, as you watch them blot out the stars and realize just how wrong you always were."

When I said it, something flashed across Udina's normally impeccable poker face. His eyes widened just a little, and his head tilted even less. His mouth parted a few centimeters. He was quiet for a moment. It was subtle, such a tiny change that most people wouldn't have caught it. He watched me, anxious.

I smiled.

He'd done a lot to rationalize away the possibility of the Reapers, both for the Council and for himself. He'd placed layers of doubt and denial in his own mind. Over these last two years ago, he'd managed to convince himself that it had to be a myth.

But my words had done their job. The solid doubt, the denial, was crumbling. He couldn't be sure.

He was scared.

* * *

Upon returning to the Normandy, my first instinct was to go straight to my quarters and let myself stew. Put on some calming music, have a drink, maybe go to sleep early. At the very least, give myself a few hours alone to calm down.

But when I entered the elevator, I remembered something. Something important. So instead I went down. Deck 2. Crew Quarters.

Garrus.

He was in the forward battery as always, his back hunched over a console. His head perked up when I came in the door, and he turned around instantly. That was when I knew something was up. He could always hear my footsteps coming down the hall. He always knew when I was coming, and he never reacted when I walked through the door.

"Shepard." He looked at me intently. I could see… reluctance in his eyes. Nervousness.

"Everything okay, Garrus?"

He nodded. "Yes, of course. Everything's fine. How did the meeting with Anderson go?"

"It went okay," I said with a shrug. "I'm a Spectre again."

"That's good." He studied me. "If that's all, then why do you look so flustered?"

"Because… Udina showed up."

There was a long silence after that. Garrus's eyes shifted. "Oh. Sorry to hear that."

"That man is a fool," I spat, turning around and staring at the wall. "The whole Council is bad, but he's the worst. Worse than the turian. He's a spineless little bastard. All he cares about is politics. It's all one giant power trip to him, and he gets off on it. He just wants to stay councilor for as long as he can, so he can keep stroking his ego."

"You know…" Garrus hesitated. "I didn't do a great job of keeping up with current events on Omega, but from the little news I did hear, he's apparently a very good politician."

I shook my head sharply, glaring at him. "He may be. Doesn't change the fact that he's threatening the galaxy with his stubbornness. I'm the reason that asshole is on the Council in the first place. At the very least, he owes me some damned respect!"

My voice was getting louder, my blood hotter with every word. That old anger was building up again. It just seemed so useless! We were risking so much to fight this threat, and people like him were putting up their best effort to subvert us. As if I needed more reasons to stop the Reapers. Now, I wanted nothing more than to see Udina's face contort with fear when they came… and rub his nose in it after I beat them.

I sighed. "The Council returned my Spectre status, but they're not giving me any support. It's essentially just a promise not to arrest me for treason."

"They'd be stupid to try that," he said. "You could just go to the Terminus, skirt their authority. Fugitive life isn't as bad as you might think. And you know I'd follow you."

He managed to elicit a chuckle out of me. "Thanks, Garrus. But it's just frustrating as hell. The Council gave me this same politically correct crap two years ago, so I guess I shouldn't expect anything more."

"C-Sec was the same way," he said.

I leaned heavily against the wall and stared at him. "These government organizations are _all_ the same way. They just don't operate with common sense."

"They've got their procedure," Garrus said. "They sacrifice efficiency, practicality, sometimes even sanity so that everything can fit neatly in a case report."

I nodded my agreement. Hell. Here I was, agreeing with _Garrus _of all people about C-Sec and the Council. I guess it was a testament to my shifting views. Or maybe just a testament to how hard the upper echelons of politics sucked.

"I'm done with the Council," I announced. "I don't owe them my loyalty, and they haven't earned it. They won't help me here. So if we survive this… I'm not going back."

"Neither am I," he said.

It was hard to imagine what we'd do if we made it through this mission. I didn't envision myself working with Cerberus after this, but I was too fed up to go back to the Citadel. Maybe the Alliance would side with me… but no, they were ultimately under the control of the Council too. Where the hell else was I going to go? Not like I had a home to return to. This ship kind of _was_ my home, in a way. I didn't particularly want to leave.

But now wasn't the time to be thinking that far ahead. I suddenly remembered why I was there. "Enough of this, Garrus. You walked out of the embassy, and you said you'd tell me what was up when I got back. Here I am. Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

His eyes dropped, and he stared at the ground, uneasy. "It's… there's a favor I have to ask of you, Shepard."

"Well? Ask."

He sighed, then met my eyes again. "I got word about Sidonis."


	13. A Brother

He didn't look particularly monstrous.

At first I wasn't sure it was him. Had I not been looking for a turian, I might have missed him completely. Lantar Sidonis disappeared into the background of Citadel foot traffic, his eyes dropped and sunken, his skin darker and duller than Garrus's, his clothes unassuming. I watched his eyes move across the terminal. They were searching. Nervous. Eventually he found me, and we shared a moment of tense eye contact.

Garrus was somewhere behind me, hiding in the rafters above, waiting for his chance to strike. He was angry. I'd noticed a change in him earlier today as we chased down Harkin, a growing, compelling intensity to the air around him. He'd moved with fierce determination, fought like a beast against Harkin's guards. I could feel the strength of will in him. On the drive over here after the warehouse, he'd kept his eyes rigidly full-forward, staring into space. I don't think I saw him blink once. He spoke very little. The only thing he had managed to say was that he regretted letting Harkin go.

"I'm getting a little worried about you, Garrus," I'd said, watching the look on his face. "You were pretty hard on Harkin."

He turned to face me, tension rising as I felt his eyes bore into me. "You don't think he deserved it?" Garrus's voice, normally warm and playful, felt ruthlessly cold. Just like two years ago, just like with Saren.

I had to look away. "It's just not like you."

A long silence passed between us, and an uneasy pit grew in my chest. I had said I was with him on this since the very beginning. I wanted to help him, but… he was scaring me. I didn't like seeing him like this. I _loved_ the other Garrus, the strong, cocky warrior who always had time for a few playful quips, who I could always rely on for support in whatever form I needed it. But now, it was like his lust for revenge had overtaken him. All he cared about was getting Sidonis. He didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted to kill.

He looked away, out the window of the vehicle. "What do you want from me, Shepard? What would you do if someone you trusted betrayed you?"

It took me a moment to respond. "I… don't know. How closely did you trust Sidonis?"

"With my life," he said quickly. "He was a good man. He was like a brother to me. A bit…" he stared at me. "A bit like you."

His words hit harder than I'd expected them to. Like _me_? I hadn't bothered to ask just how close Garrus and Sidonis had been. If it was anything like… like our relationship… _shit_. It would have been like Garrus betraying _me_. And that… that would have left me emptier than anything else in the world.

I knew him, and I knew how hard it was for him to come to trust someone else. If he and Sidonis had been friends, partners, comrades… I couldn't imagine what that betrayal must have done to him. I stared at him, studied the lines of stress and anger in his face. I could feel the hot fury of betrayal behind all that cold detachment. It was sometimes too easy to forget the pain that Garrus carried with him. He'd seen a lot. I'm no psychologist, and I couldn't tell you what tests had shown to be the best method of healing such pain. I couldn't give him therapy or medication or any of that bullcrap. But I could give him what he wanted.

I could give him his vengeance.

I know it's what I would have wanted.

As Sidonis approached, I knew exactly what I had to do.

"Let's get this over with," the darker turian said. He was trying his best to sound unconcerned, but I could hear the anxiety in his voice. "You one of Harkin's people? I don't remember seeing you before."

Garrus whispered into my earpiece, "That's it, just keep him talking a few more seconds."

"I was told Harkin was one of the best," Sidonis growled. "This better not happen again." His eyes scanned the area behind me, but I knew he wouldn't find Garrus in the shadows.

I took a long, hard look at the darker turian, searching him for signs of regret for what he'd done. Somehow, I always expect evil people to look… well, evil. Sidonis didn't. I couldn't say _what_ he looked like. Judging from the way his eyes carried, the weight on his slumped shoulders, I would have almost guessed he looked… broken.

I almost felt pity for him as I said, "Why did you betray Archangel's team?"

"What? Oh, shit!" His face blanked, and he started turning around to run away.

"Stay right there," I growled. "I'm the only thing standing between you and a hole in the head."

Sidonis froze.

"Archangel doesn't want an explanation. I do. Make me understand, Sidonis." _Make me understand how you could stab someone like Garrus in the fucking back._

"_Shit_," he scowled, his eyes darting, rigid and uneasy. "Look… I didn't want to do it. I had no choice."

I heard Garrus's voice in my ear. "Everyone has a choice."

Sidonis's eyes dropped, and he murmured something to himself, a curse too soft for me to hear. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "They got to me. They told me they'd kill me if I didn't help them. I had to do it, I never wanted anyone to get hurt."

I frowned. "That's it? You did it to save yourself?"

"I… I don't…"

"So it really is _that _simple?"

"Look, I know what I--"

"You're just a coward."

Garrus snarled, "Move to the side! I've got him in my scope, but you're in the way!"

I stared at Sidonis, watching him shrink beneath my eyes. Turians usually looked so strong, so _proud_, godlike warriors driven of strength and honor. He didn't. He looked like a parody of a turian, a caricature of the archetypical warrior that Garrus exemplified. He looked so damn pitiful. He wasn't even strong enough to meet my eyes and tell me the reason for what he'd done. To Omega. To his team. To Garrus, my partner, my brother-in-arms.

My _friend_.

"Damn it, Shepard, let me take the shot!" Garrus roared. There was only one thing to do.

I took a step to the side, remembering the hate in my friend's eyes. I turned my head and found the tip of his scope in the darkness.

"By all means."


	14. War of the Bloodlines

Now this is where my story diverts somewhat. Because I had become a vampire.

It's okay, though. Garrus was with me.

We moved with slow, cautious steps down one of the Citadel's old maintenance ducts, our eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. The duct was quiet. The air was cold and still. But we kept our rifles raised nonetheless. The Zakera Ward maintenance shafts were Acosta territory, and you could never be too careful with Acostas.

Or so we'd been told, anyway. A few nights ago, Garrus and I had been turned by a Mouth of Clan Rheingold, one of the four civilized clans operating on the Citadel. Now, to prove we were worth the skin on our flesh, we had been assigned to steal some ship codes from Rheingold's enemy, Clan Acosta. The Acostas were notorious for two things. One was money -- they were an old human clan, and they had massive accounts full of old Spanish wealth. The second was their ability to persuade, hypnotize, and enthrall.

That was enough to have me nervous.

It took us about a minute to reach the end of the duct. We stopped at an old grated door, around which I carefully wrapped my fingers. My hand was tense. I could feel Garrus's soft breathing beside me.

"Sink check," I said, trying to stall the inevitable.

"Loaded, Shepard. We're fine. We can do this."

I frowned. "At the other side of this grate is an Acosta stronghold crawling with hypnotized thralls, and probably a few vampire guards as well. We should turn around, get some help and come back with a better plan."

"Seriously, Shepard?" Garrus groaned.

"Seriously. Something feels very wrong with this. I don't know what to expect on the other side of this door, and whatever it is, I don't know if we can handle it."

He shook his head. "Come on, Shepard. We've fought geth, Collectors, mercenaries, and worse together. We can handle a little supernatural skirmish. It'll be easy."

"Easy?" I scoffed. "Remember what that strange asari vampire back at the docking bay said? August Rheingold doesn't do anything without an ulterior motive." I shook my head, remembering the elfin grin on the face of Clan Rheingold's Citadel prince as he gave us our mission. "No, I have a bad feeling about this. It's not going to be easy."

Garrus ran a hand down the shaft of his rifle, onyx eyes sparkling even in the darkness. It was remarkable how little the Change had affected him. His skin had already been pale grey, his teeth already fang-sharp. That's how it was with turian vampires. The Change left them looking much the same as they had before, and they had very little trouble blending in.

He was also just as confident as he'd ever been. "Don't be scared, Erin," he said softly, running a cold finger down the pale flesh of my arm. My skin had become ghost-white ever since my Change, so much so that it was almost sparkling in the darkness. His touch was cold, but it still felt so _warm _against my arm.

"Don't worry," he said. "Just remember what I told you. Gun down the thugs, shotgun between the eyes for any Acosta vamps. If things get out of control, just find some cover and let the blood heal you." He exhaled, a long, cold breath. "I've got your back."

"Like always," I said with a smile.

He nodded. "Like always."

With a surge of steely determination, I ripped the door off its hinges. We leapt headfirst into the War of the Bloodlines.

It seemed vampire society had adapted readily to modern technology. A century ago, Garrus and I could have torn into the room and blasted through every one of the possessed thralls before they even had a chance to raise their guns. But as it stood, the half-dozen hypnotized mortals guarding this abandoned-maintenance-station-turned-stronghold were equipped with the best kinetic shielding money could buy. Garrus and I dropped down from the maintenance duct guns blazing, plastering the grey room with automatic rounds. Our goal was to ambush. We sprayed our fire wildly. We tried to hit every target we could see within the span of a couple seconds, finish this fight before it could begin.

But the thralls were saved by their shields. After a few moments of confusion, they ran for cover. Outcroppings, empty crates, open doors -- whatever could protect them from our guns.

Garrus crouched on one knee and loaded a fresh heat sink. "Cover me," he said. "Switch to sniper. I'm going to smoke them out."

It still felt a bit strange, taking orders from Garrus now. But he was better at this than I. "Careful," I said, putting away my assault rifle and switching to sniper. Garrus and I had both fallen into cover behind a thick, old metal pipe. I peered out over the surface as he crept forward, keeping his head low. One of the thralls picked that moment to pop out of cover and try to pin Garrus down. Big mistake. I trained my scope over his face and fired. Bang, dead. Shield can't save you from that.

Garrus gave me a nod. Then he continued. After a few chillingly quiet seconds, he got to his feet and fired a concussive blast into the center of the room.

Then we went into action.

There was a wild roar as the Acosta thugs opened fire en-masse, painting Garrus with bullets. His shield glowed ghostly blue as it repelled them. But he didn't duck. He returned fire, and I heard a feminine voice yell in pain somewhere in front of me. Two down. I grabbed a pistol with my left hand and leapt out of cover, guns blazing, pouring supercooled rounds every which way. With my rifle, I blind-fired a dark-skinned salarian to my right. With my pistol, I killed a thuggish batarian to my left. Garrus joined behind me and we turned the dark room into a chamber of blazing light and roaring sound, tearing through the witless vampire thralls. I felt a rumble as my shields drained, but they held steady, and Garrus held my right flank. For a second I thought it really _was _going to be that easy.

Then something socked me in the face, and I fell with a _thud_. For a few seconds my vision was hazy. Garrus yelled, "Human next to you is a vamp!"

I sat up. A pale, dark-haired human man glared down at me with jet-black eyes, a sly smile cut across his face. "Look at this," he said, opening his mouth to give me a full view of his fangs. "Rheingold's newest little recruit. My Sire will be pleased indeed with this tribute."

"I've got you, Shepard!" Garrus started running, but the vampire raised his arm and fired a pulse of dark energy at him. I watched the pulse grab him and propel him back against the wall. He hit the metal floor hard. He didn't get up.

_Shit_, I thought.

The vampire grinned darkly and cooed, "Too bad you don't get to live long enough to learn your lesson. Clan Acosta is not trifled with lightly." His eyes lit up, and his body took on an otherworldly glow as he prepared to unleash his Blood Curse on me…

A whole hell of a lot happened at that moment.

There was a gust of wind, a bright flash of light that left me blinded. I felt a streak of cold in front of me, then heat. There was an explosion, a loud, rumbling lion's roar the source of which I couldn't see. It hit… something, then crashed against the far wall, colliding like a bomb. The impact left my ears ringing. I fell back against the floor, feeling nothing but fuzzy whiteness and pain. I couldn't see. Couldn't hear. I threw my arms around me, trying to get my bearings.

"The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want…"

My eyes opened slowly. I could see very little, but I quickly noticed that the Acosta vamp was gone. I turned to the left, and saw what remained of his body, gored to a pulp and smeared against the charred far wall. It didn't look like it could be real.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still water…"

I turned my head to the right, looking for the source of the voice. I couldn't see anything beyond the darkness.

"He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake…"

I crawled to my feet. "Garrus? Garrus, what the hell's going on?"

"Oh, _shit_," hissed the turian.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me." That was when I saw him. The man appeared out of the darkness and stood in front of me, his body straight and rigid, his grey eyes steely. He was an older man, with leathery skin and graying hair, but I could see the lines of muscle under his black robe. He spoke in a loud, rumbling baritone, with hints of an Irish accent in his words. He had a silver Celtic crucifix around his neck, shimmering in the low light.

Oh. And he was also holding a rocket launcher.

"Damn it, Shepard!" Garrus yelled from across the room. "It's Father McCreary!"

"Who?"

The man took a step forward, cutting me apart with his steel-grey eyes. "Fear me, children of blood, spawn of the Devil, for I am the right hand of the Lord, instrument of his righteous fury." Father McCreary lifted the rocket launcher and aimed it at Garrus. I lunged for him, but it was too late. Another blinding flash, another rumbling explosion… and Garrus was gone.

"Crap," the turian cursed.

I fumbled to raise my weapon. "Garrus, what the hell is this? Help me!"

"I can't help you. I'm dead."

A smile flashed across the steeled face of Father McCreary. "Your Bloodline War weakens you from within, children of blood. The righteous fear no such treachery. We are one, united against the forces of the Devil. You cannot hope to resist us."

Then he aimed the rocket launcher at me.

"Run, Shepard!" Garrus yelled. I did. I dove to the left just as he fired, narrowly avoiding the missile. I grabbed my pistol and shot off a few rounds from the floor. They hit him, but he just shrugged them off like mosquito bites.

"Cast a Blood Heal," Garrus said. "Then Curse of Blood… wait, no, he'll just resist that. Damn it!"

"Blood Heal…" I muttered as I ran, crouching down behind a set of crates at the corner of the room. "Wait… how do I do that again? Oh, right." I cast the spell and felt it course through my body, restoring my wounds. Then, fumbling, I switched out for my shotgun and aimed it at the empty space in front of me. I could hear Father McCreary's footsteps approaching. Slow, rhythmatic, and deliberate. Scary as hell. "What do I do, Garrus?"

"You…" Garrus hesitated, his voice trailing off. "Hell, I don't know."

Father McCreary appeared in front of me, eyes stoic, silver crucifix gleaming, rocket launcher raised and ready. My shotgun went off, though whether it was due to impulse or just heart-racing fear I couldn't be sure. He took the blow to the chest. What looked like a solid liter of blood poured out, but he didn't stop. He didn't react in the slightest. I'm not even sure he noticed.

"For thine is the Kingdom," he whispered, "and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen." Click. Boom. There was a flash of light, and I was dead.

I sighed and tossed away the controller. "What the _hell _was that?"

"Father Ewan McCreary," Garrus said with a hint of a smile. "Agent of the Eleventh Crusade. Demon hunter extraordinaire. He was one of the main enemies in the first game… though I didn't expect him to show up so soon."

I stared at my video screen in silent frustration, watching red gothic letters scroll across in slow progression. _Game Over. Continue. Load. Quit._ "Great. So how are we supposed to beat him?"

Garrus shrugged. "That stupid Acosta vamp immobilized me. If it hadn't been for that, I could have helped you."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Hmm… mortals like him have zero spirit resistance. We could Soul Drain him. You put points into thaumaturgy, right?"

I shook my head. "Sorry. Just combat and blood magic. I said I wanted to play a straight shooter class, and you told me to pick Gunslinger."

"Right…" His eyes dropped down to his controller, and he stared at the buttons, thoughtful. "I can cast it, then. Just keep me covered. And make sure to kill that Acosta asshole before he can ensnare us."

"I'll try. But remember, I still suck at this game."

He chuckled. "I don't know. You were doing pretty well back there until McCreary showed up."

I rolled my eyes, though the gesture was wasted, because he was staring back at the screen. "Good at running and gunning, sure. But I still have no idea what to do with all these spells. Thaumaturgy, blood magic, evocation… too damn complicated. This is why I _never _play spellcasters in any game. Especially not when the alternative is guns."

It had been a day since we'd taken out Sidonis. I still wasn't sure how I felt about it. But I hadn't forgotten what the hunt had done to Garrus. After seeing him get so cold and detached yesterday, I wanted to do something to help him forget. So I'd told him: today was his day. He was in control. We'd do whatever he wanted, no questions asked, so long as it was fun. I had expected reluctance, or maybe a bit of playful flirtation that involved raising the inflection and stretching out the syllables of the word "_anything_." At the very best, I'd expected him to want to go to a bar somewhere and get drunk.

What I had _not _expected was for him to run out to the Citadel games merchant, buy a fantasy-shooter RPG called _Blood Legacies 2: War of the Bloodlines,_ plug the console into the video screen in my room, and hand me a controller. No… a million guesses and I never would have come up with that. But Garrus Vakarian was full of surprises. I'd turned on the game with a bit of reluctance, but had quickly found myself enthralled with it. I'm a stickler for a good storyline. And hey, let's face it: I love making big baddies go boom as well. Stupid Garrus knew me too well. I was quckly becoming a fan of the _Blood Legacies _franchise.

The screen went black for a moment, then gave way to a static loading screen. There was an artistic image of a beautiful light-skinned asari, tussed up in black formalwear with long, dark leather gloves. Her eyes were black as night, and her full lips were curved into a devious smile, just wide enough for the tips of her fangs to poke out. I'd seen her before. It was the same mysterious asari vampire from the docking platform, the one who had warned us about August Rheingold. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing her again."

"Of course," said Garrus. "The art department wouldn't have spent so much time making her look so damn beautiful if she wasn't a major character."

I grinned and elbowed his rib. "So now you have an eye for the asari, huh, turian?"

He shrugged. "I said beautiful. There's a difference between beautiful and sexy. I can admire that she looks good without being attracted to her, right?"

"Bah. Yeah right. In all my years, I've never met a man who didn't like himself a nice curvy asari. You all are exactly the same."

His mandibles flared. "Hey! I resent that," he said playfully.

The loading bar was filling out agonizingly slow. I leaned back on the couch and sighed. "You know August Rheingold is going to betray us, right?"

"Very possible," he said. "You didn't play the first game, so you don't know all the mythology yet. But Clan Rheingold is the clan of deception. They manipulate people, use them, play to their strengths and exploit their weaknesses. Then discard them when it becomes convenient."

I chuckled. "So they're Cerberus?"

"Only if Father McCreary is the Council," he said with a grin. The game finally loaded, and we were back to the same maintenance shaft from the beginning of the mission. "Alright, let's try actually coming up with a plan this time. As soon as we get down there, run out and kill that goddamn Acosta vamp. Ignore the thralls. They're no threat. When Father McCreary comes out, I'll Soul Drain him to drop his resistances, then paralyze him with Cage of Despair. Then you can blast his face in with your shotgun a few times. Hopefully you'll get him down to below fifty percent before he recovers. After that… just try to avoid his rocket launcher. We can reload if we fail."

That felt nice. Just start over if we made a mistake. Now _that_ was a luxury I wish I had in reality. But then again, that's what entertainment is, right? An escape, distraction from the hardships of reality. And I had to admit, running around the Citadel flinging blood magic at people was damn _fun_.

Garrus was happy too. I could see it in his eyes. They always get bright and sparkly when he's happy, like perfectly polished gemstones. He was back. This was the Garrus I loved, the fun, playful, passionate Garrus, _my _Garrus. My best friend. It reminded me of something Jack had said when I was on too many pain-reducing drugs to really think about it, about Garrus and I being… together. I'd thought it a horrible idea then. I still kind of did. But someone look at two fully grown adults, two hardened soldiers who'd had more bloodshed and hardship and tragedy in their lives than most people could ever handle, sitting on a couch playing a video game about vampires on the Citadel and having the time of their lives, and tell me they aren't meant for each other.

Hell, I didn't know. I didn't know if it was a good idea for me and Garrus to try something more intimate. I had no idea how to proceed even if it was. I didn't know what he thought about it, or how it would affect us. I didn't know if it could work. No, I really had no idea what the hell to do.

I did know one thing, though. I was having fun today, and so was he. It was nice to pretend to be Arrin Sapphire, Gunslinger of Clan Rheingold for a day, killing Acosta thralls, getting blown up by maniacal priests of the Eleventh Crusade, and forgetting about all the Reapers. Garrus hadn't mentioned Sidonis once today. I was happy to help him forget.

After all, it's those forgetful days that make life worth the trouble.


End file.
